I was talking with Pop, my grandfather, the other night. It's a bit more difficult than one may expect. You see, Pop died back in 2000. That doesn't stop me from visiting with him though. In order to do so I must be very tired, very stressed out, very much missing him, and very much asleep. I figured, with Halloween rapidly approaching, it was high time he came for a visit, and perhaps would be a fun little story to share with you all – if he'd just cooperate!
Not everyone in my family can do this, but it is most definitely an inherited trait. My mom talks to Maga (her mother) often, as does her sister. No, I'm not a psychic, it's just one of those odd things that my quirky family can do and we don't really think about. I can only do this with family that I had a special connection to, so please don't ask if I can talk to your relatives for you.
Pop loved all of his grandkids equally, although each of us had our own special relationship with him; our's was a particularly tight and honest one. Pop always gave me good, practical, honest - and often brutal – advice. I miss him daily.
I found Pop in his favorite spot, accompanied by my favorite dogs, John Deere cap in place and a big smile on his tanned face. He loves this spot, and it's definitely the farm of his dreams. I hadn't seen the dogs with him in some time, so I knew he picked up on the fact that I was more than a bit peeved. After hugs and scratches to all my pups, we plopped down on crates to chat.
Me: So ya old-fart, where the hell you been?!
Pop: Hey old woman, glad to see you too. You know I can't always come when you call, it doesn't work like that.
Me: (grumbling a bit) Yeah, yeah, I know. Still doesn't make me any happier. I miss you, ya know. You need to visit me more often.
Pop: I know. So what's got you all worked up? Why're ya here? And what the hell's going on with all those old piece of crap sewing machines you're buying up?
Me: They're not crap and you know it. I like 'em, they're fun to work on, and they cost less than a project car. As for the rest, I've got a test coming up – computer stuff – and I need to finish a re-write of Jess' book. Since you gave her to me, I figure you're the best one to talk to about this.
Pop: I don't get it. Hasn't she told you what to write?
Me: Yep, but I keep getting the same advice about her language over and over. And of course Rosie has to chime in about 'proper' language and not to write 'such filth'.
Pop: Aw, hell! Tell Rosie to quit getting her bloomers in a bunch! So Jess swears; it's just the way she is. You know, she's a lot like you and I know you swear just as badly.
(He's right, I do)
Me: Don't I know it! But she gives me a head ache when I change her language. It's mostly the f-bomb that people take issue with. Hell, Mom won't even read it.
Pop: You know your Mom's a smart lady, maybe you should listen to her – a little bit. And take that writer friend of yours advice; don't drop it right off the start, but let her work up to a good outburst.
Me: (sighing) Okay, okay. I'll listen to everyone's advice. I'm working on it but it's kind of hard...I'm eating Excedrin like it's candy!
Pop: (laughing) Yep, that Jess' is a firecracker. Tell that pretty blond writer friend of yours that if I was alive and a lot younger, I'd be more'n happy to show her a good time!
Me: Will you always be a cute old letch?
Typical Pop, always with an eye out for a pretty girl! Still, I love our visits - even when he acts like an old letch.