Random Esquire

My phone rang at 2:30 a.m. on Saturday night. I was half asleep and did not answer. But it rang again and I grabbed it, seeing that it was my cousin. She was crying. She said my grandmother was in the hospital and please try to come as soon as I could… my grandmother was dying.

I jumped out of bed, scrambled to put on clothes and ran to my car.  I got on the highway not even knowing how to get there.

I walked into the ER and saw my family there. I know I had a dazed look. Unable to really grasp this. My father took me within the ER where my mother stood next to her mother. I held my grandmother’s hand and stroked her head and wished that her eyes would open and she would see me, see everyone around her.

My grandmother and I have never had a conversation before. Everything I know about my grandmother has been told to me by someone else, even what she may have said just moments before. We don’t speak a common language.  Everything that has been said between the two of us has been through touch and sight.

She would hug me. I would hug her. She would make food for me and I would watch.  She would see the look on my face when I tasted how good it was. She would hold my hand and I would hold it back.  I would get into trouble and put my arms around her waist while she patted my back. She watched me speak, picked up on my tone, and understood so much of what I said. When I was a child, I would rub her feet because I knew she was tired.

I would have liked to ask her many questions about herself. About her life. About her husband who died so young and my mother as a child. About leaving her country and coming to the U.S. I watched her become a citizen and I remember it so clearly because until then, I had never known her first name.

I sometimes wish I could have had those conversations with my grandmother. But I very, very much appreciate the relationship I had with her. It was always sincere, nothing was hidden, always in the moment, and always without explanation.  There were no words to color or shade a feeling. No chance to say that you did not want to talk about it. No need to feel that you had to.

My grandmother did not die. She has recovered consciousness. It has been a very long time since she was well enough to speak.  But that has not changed anything in our relationship.  Because she knows when I am there, and everything that could be said, she knows – when I hold her hand or touch her face.

In some ways, I’ve never been more clearly understood or felt so obviously loved.

I hope she feels the same.

I’ve been thinking about forgiveness. In many contexts. But today I thought of my father and how whenever my sister or I accomplished something, he had a hard time recognizing it without talking about his own accomplishments.  If we got all As, he pointed out that he got all As for all four years in high school. If we won a competition, he pointed out competitions he’d won. And whenever he does accomplish something, he is a little boastful.

And it’s okay.

Because I understand now with a few years under my belt. My father, the second oldest of eleven children, never received the attention and recognition he wanted or needed for his accomplishments. There were always younger ones who needed more pressing attention.

My father loves music. I remember, when I was much younger, watching him listen to Colm Wilkinson sing Bring Him Home from Les Miserables. He tried to sing along and told me, sadly, that he used to have a good voice.  His eyes welled up and he told me that when he was a child, he had a very painful ear infection. His parents did not take him to the doctor and kept telling him to tough it out.  He said the pain was excruciating. Then, one night, the pressure in his ear built up and he heard a pop and a whoosh of pain that left his pillow bloody.  His eardrum had ruptured.

I could see that he was angry still at his parents for not taking him to the doctor. Not even paying enough attention to the physical pain he felt. Despite how much he loves them and respects them, there is still that pain.  And all that pain from childhood has left a thin, slightly tinted figurative scar over his eyes and heart that colors what he sees and feels.

I thought about that today. And how one of my goals is to learn to not only see someone’s scars but the pain it represents and how it colors their life.

It is a lesson I regret I may have learned too late.

When I was visiting my parents recently, they pulled out a file of drawings my sister and I did as children. You may be familiar with some of our other differences.

Now, let me explain what you’re about to see… This was a workbook of sorts that we each colored while in kindergarten about ourselves, our lives and our family. With that, let’s get started.

PAGE 1:  THIS IS MY HAND

We were each supposed to draw a picture of our hand. Here is my sister’s hand, complete with manicured nails and a ring.

Let’s see my hand:

Seems okay so far, right?

PAGE 2: THIS IS MY FOOT

Sister’s foot – complete with toes and instep. Also, possibly some injuries.

My foot – notice that I did not even bother to take off my shoe.

PAGE 3: THIS IS MY HAIR

Sister’s hair: She took time to give herself a part.

My hair: I took time to give myself blue eyes.

Note the obvious family resemblance.

PAGE 4: THIS IS MY HOUSE

My sister lives in a significantly more beautiful home than I do. Her home has a garage, driveway, door, window, chimney, tree and tulips.

My house is yellow. Bonus:  roof.

PAGE 5: THIS IS MY BED

Sister’s bed has a headboard, footboard, pillows, and ruffles. Also, a person added for size scale.

Meanwhile, I apparently thought the square in which we were to depict our bed was the actual bed. Also, I couldn’t be bothered to pick up another color crayon so my bed matches my house.

PAGE 6: THIS IS MY FAMILY

My sister has taken the time to give my father glasses and a tie. Also, note the accurate representation that my mother’s hair is darker than my father’s.

I don’t even know what to say about my picture.

PAGE 7: THIS IS ME. I AM WONDERFUL!

(seriously, that’s what it says at the top of the page):

Sister: Ahh, the colors!

Me: I included the full page, for maximum effect. WTF.

PAGE 8: THIS IS MY FAVORITE TOY

My sister enjoys her yo yo!

This is my favorite toy.

Can’t tell what it is? Let me help.

Clearly, it’s a blender, people.

There you have it. Sister vs. Random: Kindergarten Style

My sister is worldly as can be yet suffers from a complete lack of pop culture knowledge.  She works a ton, has traveled the world, raises kids… but didn’t know what a MILF was when someone told her she was one.  When she tried a book club (of predominantly stay-at-home moms, they all talked on and on about a movie until my sister inquired, “What the hell is Twilight?”

SO, my sister was at a work event at which a gentleman was describing a contest of sorts in which the employees would be completing. He said, “The prize is a gift certificate to Tiffany’s! It’s quite sizable. You could get your wife a pearl necklace!”

Afterwards, another employee informed him that his comment made it sound as if a man was sure to win.  My sister, believing herself quite worldly and proud of her open mind, informed the room, “That’s not true!  A woman could give her wife a pearl necklace, too!”

A woman in the room snorted and said, “That’s not gonna happen.”

Someone politely explained the term to my sister.

Tell me an embarrassing story, please!

1.  I have been considering deleting my blog.  I had typed out the entry to let people know when Besos leaned over, put her hand on mine and said, “Wait.  Just wait a bit longer.”

2.  Grocery shopping with Besos is strangely arousing.

3.  Little Filthy went to the park today.  He peed 27 times.

I WISH I WAS KIDDING.

4.  On Thursday evening, my father sent me a text message at 10 p.m. and informed me that my mother had gone to lunch and had not yet returned.  I frowned.  I called him to speak with him.  She had also forgotten her mobile phone at home so my father could not reach her.  By 11, I sent a text to my sister to ask if she’d spoken with Mom recently.  She hadn’t.  By 11:30, I was staring at the ceiling wondering about when people say that one call can change your life – and I wondered if this was my day?

She arrived home later.  She’d gone to dinner, not lunch.  She felt terrible that the entire family was ready to stroke out.

I took a very deep breath and do not remember falling asleep.

Besos spoke with her family tonight.  Afterwards, she looked at me and said, “That was my grandmother.”

Besos continued, “She said, ‘I just had surgery in one eye and the other one doesn’t work.’”

I paused and looked up.

She said, “So I said, “Oh…., well, use your imagination, Grandma.‘”

I burst out laughing.  I said, “Seriously?”

She laughed and said, “Well, what was I supposed to say??  Besides…she didn’t hear me.”

I said, “She didn’t hear you?”

She said, “No…she’s gone deaf.”

I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing again.

We’re going to hell.

1.  Hit the Jersey Shore yesterday.  I wish there was some way I could have snapped a picture of a couple sitting on the beach.  Both in lawn chairs, the woman was all of 90 pounds and 90 years old with a vibrant red head of wig perched atop her noggin and skin the color of an old penny.  Her skinny limbs stuck out of her body like lollipop sticks.  Not to be outdone was her husband whose prosthetic leg was removed and perched just below his knee while his shortened limb was crossed over his other leg.  Basically, he had crossed his legs but left the prosthesis in place so it looked like they weren’t crossed until you paused and realized that his thigh was in fact crossed toward his other leg.   They made an interesting picture – not in a comical way – but more in the way that you wanted to know their story.  Naturally, I instantly nicknamed them Snookie and the Situation.

2.  Today, while my nephew napped, I looked at my niece and said, “What would you like to do?”

She responded ,”MAKE CUPCAKES.”

So we made cupcakes.

3.  Second only after cupcakes in enjoyment factor was holding my niece and nephew upside down by their ankles while they laughed hysterically.  I’m not sure my sister knows about that, though.

They didn’t barf or anything.

4.  My sister was charmed by the Seattle group.  She said that they seemed like people “who love experiences.”  And I agree.

5.  While at dinner tonight, my sister said to her son, “You’re going to school next week; did you know that? You’re going to go to school.”   And he said very simply, in his high pitched, tiny boy voice:

“Nooope.”

1. It’s hard to write a blog entry.

When a dog insists on standing on you and staring at you.

2.  I ate a mango today.  For some reason, I decided I would just peel it and eat it off of the pit.  Except, this wasn’t a small champagne mango. This was one of those big ass mangoes that white people buy because it is red and orange and pretty.

Dude. This was a mistake.

When I was done, it was like someone had put privacy curtains between each of my teeth.

3.  I saw my parents and their new $600 blender yesterday.  My mother gave me their throw-away $300 blender.  I had to ask.

I said, “Mom, what the hell are you two blending that you need that machine?”

Because the only thing I’ve seen them use the thing for is fruit smoothies.

My mom said, “It makes awesome margaritas!”

I said, “Mom, you don’t drink.”

“I might start.”

Now, really, my mother does occasionally drink but pretty rarely.  I said, “You have maybe two margaritas a year.”

My father grunted and said, “Those are three hundred dollar margaritas.”

Happy father’s day!

You may recall the ordeal I went through known as “Where’s my blender?”

This is when I got my parents a $300+ blender because they liked fruit smoothies.  Whatever.  It was Christmas.

Well, as you may have heard… Chicago experienced quite the storm today.  Windows flew out of the Willis/Sears Tower, Chicago turned dark as night in the daytime, hail fell and, generally speaking, everything went to shit for a while.

It is now 10:30 p.m.  My parents have texted me a few times to let me know that their electricity is still out but that they are comfortable and it should be fine.

My father said it was generally okay outside and so they were not too warm.  Still, not entirely comfortable.

I texted back, “That sucks.”

My father responded, “It sure does. Mom just got her Vitamix Pro 500 and we never got to try it!”

Yes.

Unfortunately, I am serious.  They upgraded.  To a $600 blender.

I don’t get it.  They both have all their teeth.  What the hell are they doing over there?!

1.  My nephew is going through potty training.  My mother visited my sister and her family this weekend and was a witness to the magic that is potty training a little boy.  My mother informed me that she instructed my nephew to “hold it” while he stood in front of the toilet.  He did and then withdrew his hand again and looked up at my mother and said, “My pee-pee has a booger on it.”  I mean, I can understand why he didn’t want to hold something with a booger on it.  So you can hardly blame the kid.

2.  I spent Memorial Day on Lake Michigan, salmon fishing on a chartered boat.  One of the salty older men who was along on the trip told me a lot of stories that made me laugh.  When in college, he and a buddy thought that they would sign up for dance lessons as a way to meet girls.  They walked to the class congratulating themselves and when they got there, each was given a mannequin on roller skates.  He said it was horrible.

3.  I got a Droid Incredible. This means that I may become perfectly obnoxious posting pictures of everything because it is now super easy from my phone.  Having said that, while I understand that some of you (especially if you follow me on twitter) would appreciate a picture of Turtle or Permanently Pregnant girl, I have learned my lesson about trying to take pictures of people in public places.  I am reformed.

4.  The dog and I are going to have a beer and finish watching the hockey game.

CAUSE THAT HOW WE DO.