Saturday, May 15, 2010

Ralph and Roberta

The internet out here in the boroughs of San Diego is slower than cold molasses, so no pictures up here until I get home.
Why I love spending time with my father's parents:

They're 86 and 84, and every time my grandfather leaves the house, he still gives my grandma a big kiss on the lips and she says "see you later, Tiger" which ends up sounding more like "see yah latah, Tigah" because they're from Worcester, Massachusetts.

My grandfather arises a couple hours before my grandmother, takes a couple mile walk about the neighborhood, feeds all the neighbors' dogs who he knows by name, and comes home to make my grandmother breakfast. He carefully cuts the crossword out from the newspaper and lays it alongside her place setting every morning.

Their wireless network (whose password is a mythical beast lost on some fabled crumpled bill envelope in the recesses of their split-level home so I'm sitting on the far right side of the house and scalping off the neighbors' internet) is named BORTYG, after their springer spaniel, who died thirty years ago back east and was named for one letter from each of their children. (B for Beth, O for Scott, R for Mark, T for Heather, Y for Holly). (G for Garbutt).

My cousins had a dog named Ammon who lived with them for a long time and then died, and his ashes are sitting out in my grandparents' garage in a little white box, and my grandpa has been propositioning me to go out and dig a hole in the backyard and bury the ashes the whole time I've been here.

Three of my cousins have become engaged and are getting married within the next year, in California.
While I continue to refuse to bury the dog, as we speak, as I write this blog and eat my grapefruit, my grandfather is standing at the stove behind me making my grandmother's oatmeal and making up this song, which he believes we should sing in one of the wedding processions as we carry Ammon's box with us, which song I am typing as he is singing it:

"Ammon, Ammon, you cannot walk down the aisle,
because you've been gone quite a while,
but we'll keep walking, we won't stop,
because you know, you were the top.
Oh oh oh oh, ohhhh Ammon,
Oh Ammon,
Oh Ammon,
Oh oh oh oh oh, ohhh Ammon,
You were the very, very top."

If you want to imagine him singing this and have the delightful experience that I am having, you can just click here and watch a video of him speaking. Just imagine the same voice, singing.

And if you ever wondered why I am incessantly singing everything, there you go.
And who doesn't like Ronald Reagan?


Sam said...

Your grandfather sounds like the sweetest, funniest man! I wish I could have known my grandfather's. How sweet for him to make breakfast and cut out the crossword. Too cute!

HeidiLynn said...

My dad's side of the family was all born and raised and remain in Worcester! I'm very familiar with the accent. Wondrous.

Anna said...

Cute! These are the sweet things about aging that I actually look forward to.

ps. glad to hear my friends are all visiting your blog! I like to read it myself. :)