The weekend featured a funeral on Saturday, followed by a birthday party on Sunday. Thankfully, I didn't mix the two up because that would have been really awkward. Although, I suppose breaking into a rendition of "Happy funeral to you!" would have had some comedic value.
Anyway, on Saturday I said goodbye to one of my two remaining grandmas. The last time I saw her in person was five years ago to mark her 80th birthday. Correspondence after that consisted of the annual Christmas letter, a call to tell her I was getting married and a call to tell her my wife was pregnant. I don't remember if I called to tell her about my wife being pregnant with twins, but I don't think I did. In fact, I know I didn't, because she had fallen around that time and had to enter a nursing home, so I didn't have her new number.
So, it's safe to say I wasn't particularly close to Grandma, but it's still a shard to the heart to know she's gone. Grandparents always seem eternal right up until the point they're not.
The funeral required a sojourn West across Minnesota, in what can accurately be called one of the more boring two hour drives in the entire state. I dutifully printed out Google map directions, which apparently didn't take into account the fact a large swath of the road I needed to travel upon is currently shovel-readied out of existence.
So, I found myself in the town of St. Clair, which was nowhere near where I needed to be. I ended up consulting with the small town equivalent of Google maps: a convenience store clerk who jotted down some quick instructions to get me back on my desired path. For about five minutes I had no less than five locals poreing over the Google map directions I had printed out, trying to figure out where I erred.
"That's why I don't trust those guys," said one, as if Google exists solely as a roomful of eggheads with slide rules and pocket protectors.
I got back on the road and finally arrived at my destination, a lonely yet grand Lutheran church parked in the middle of absolutely nowhere--cornfields as far as the eye can see in every direction. I attended my grandfather's funeral at the exact same church over a decade ago. I'll probably never see the church again, which is sort of sad in its own way.
As I said, I wasn't particularly close to my grandma, but I found myself tearing up during the service, because I read Finn's name in the obituary list of family members who preceded Grandma in death, so suddenly the funeral selfishly became another service to him, in my mind. The pain of his loss just keeps popping up in the dangdest of places. Goldfish crackers have a mascot named "Finn," for example, and the latest "Cars" movie has a character named "Finn" voiced by Michael Caine.
After the committal service, I noticed a grave one or two steps down from Grandma's that features a "Troy" who only lived two days in 1968. I hate to admit I spent too much time around that grave, but I did. And I didn't want to leave. I'm telling you, the grief just follows me everywhere and slaps me in the face right when I think I've finally gotten it under control. I just miss Finn and see him everywhere. Not having him here wounds me in terrible ways I don't understand.
As a writer, I want to explain it, but it's not easy trying to explain the worst pain in my life. I'll write something, read it, and realize I'm inadequate to the task. And then I'll try again, and reach the same conclusion. And suddenly I realize that's the definition of insanity.
Anyway, the funeral thus completed, the fellowship lunch in the church basement dutifully ingested and the obligatory small talk with people I mostly didn't know or vaguely remember concluded, I was back on the road home.
On the return journey, however, I was on high alert for whatever it was that tripped me up earlier that landed me in St. Clair. When I hit Waseca, I was confronted with a phalanx of "Detour" signs, and thus the mystery was solved. No such detour signs guided me on the way to the funeral, thank you very much.
As I approached the detour, I saw a billboard that decreed "Discover Waseca," and thanks to the detour I had absolutely no choice in the matter. The detour took me through the heart of the town which, additionally, was holding a town celebration that required the closing of several streets. So, I had to embark on a detour within a detour, which is just what you want to do after a funeral and over three hours of driving.
But, I got through the commute and was home at 3:30 p.m., which was just in time to get back in the van and go purchase items for my boy's second birthday the next day. By that evening, I was so sick of driving I found myself standing on the front stoop, frowning at the minivan. You know you've reached a driving tipping point when you break out the minivan frown.
I switched mental gears on Sunday and set myself to ensuring Aiden had the best birthday EVER! Which sounds like a tall order until you realize he only has one other birthday against which to compare it, and he probably doesn't even remember that one, so I could have handed him a cookie and it would have been the best birthday EVER!
But, no, we have to deliver more than a cookie and a smile on one's second birthday, so we put on a "Toy Story" themed party, and he was so excited upon seeing the decorated porch that he declared "OH, WOW!" and his whole body started to practically tremble like a jostled bottle of nitroglycerin on the verge of exploding. So, MISSION ACCOMPLISHED!
Did I say it was a "Toy Story" themed party? Oh, it was a "Toy Story" themed extravaganza! We had the "Toy Story" trilogy playing on a small television, with "Toy Story" gift boxes, and a "Toy Story" cake. And then, as if that wasn't enough "Toy Story," it turned out people had bought "Toy Story" gifts, so Aiden ended up "Toy Story" toys, including a "Toy Story" railroad track and a "Toy Story" garbage truck that opens into a waste management facility a la "Toy Story 3."
Man, I am so freakin' tired of "Toy Story."
At some point, I think Aiden made the connection that the decorations and toys and people were all about HIM and this concept of a "birthday." Honestly, it was almost like a little flame flickered in his eyes and he. . . JUST KNEW. It was one of those moments I've heard other parents talk about and never really understood. But, the pure joy and excitement he experienced as he ran back and forth, screaming with pleasure about everything and everything, was as near to perfect as you can get.
Of course, eventually, the nap grumblies kicked in, so it was time for the guests to leave and the festivities to come to a close. I try to imagine what went through his two-year-old mind, what with the morning being dedicated to him, and then waking up from his afternoon nap to discover everything was back to normal. It must be like one of those dreams where you find a bunch of money or treasure and you're all giddy until you realize you're beginning to wake up, and you don't want the dream to end.
You never want the dream to end.
Watched the 2010 documentary "Catfish." It's a decent enough show, in a real life "Plain Layne" sort of way. But, man, it features a guy with a tramp stamp. You CANNOT be a guy with a tramp stamp and profess to be straight.
Every time I see a commercial for Smoker's Ally, I very nearly wet myself with laughter.
I mean, from the cliched construction worker apparently missing his two front teeth, to the black dude blowing water vapor out of his nose, to Princess Leia exclaiming "Whoa!" to the eventual bar fly at the end saying "wow, I just love this," this commercial just features something for everyone. If you don't find this commercial amusing on some level, you clearly don't have a soul.
My wife and I are considering purchasing new cell phones. This is not an easy decision, owing largely to the fact I basically loathe phones in general, and cell phones in particular. Alas, in today's fast-paced world of technological innovation, being without a cell phone is like participating in a tug-of-war with no arms.
Actually, I should step back a bit here. My wife and I aren't considering new cell phones--we're considering upgrading from cell phones to "smart phones." I hate that term: "smart phones." Because the phones aren't "smart," and neither are most of the people using them, which makes having to upgrade to one all the more insulting.
Let's be clear here: "smart phones" are simply very small computers you can hold up to your ear in the unlikely event you decide to use one as an actual phone. I've been an avid computer enthusiast for the last 20+ years, so I know a computer when I see one, and a smart phone is a small computer. Period. Except it's a small computer that will be obsolete in six months, so you have to keep upgrading over and over again, which is why I hate the very idea of even venturing down the smart phone path. I'm annoyed enough when I have to upgrade my computer to new software versions, so actually having to buy a new hardware device with each software upgrade is particularly galling. It's like having to buy a new car when the tires get worn down.
Even worse than the idea of purchasing a very small computer over and over again is the thought of going down the texting rabbit hole. I just simply don't understand the concept behind texting. My thinking is, if something is important enough to text, it's important enough to call, because it takes longer to text than to call in most cases. That said, I think I resist texting because, in my heart of hearts, I know I'll end up embracing it like a long lost lover. I can totally see my sour cynicism playing out in texting format.
There's part of me that desperately wishes the sun would send out an uber-flare that radiates an electro magnetic pulse (EMP) that renders all electronic devices impotent and sends human civilization back to primitive circles around campfires for our communication needs, but I know that's not likely to happen.
So, I have no real choice but to embark on the smart phone route and become a texting fiend. Which means this blog will eventually consist of texting shorthand.
j/k. LOL!
Today's parental high points included:
1.) While trying to feed Zoey--an all-day exercise in necessary futility--Aiden disappeared, and was discovered putting cat food, kibble by kibble, into the cat water dish.
2.) While trying to feed Zoey--an all-day exercise in necessary futility--Aiden became suspiciously quiet, and was discovered eating chewing gum still in the wrapper.
