50 Reasons Why I Love My Dog

OK, I’m going to start this post with the acknowledgement that I have TWO dogs. Yes, this post is just about one of the dogs (Sophie), and no, there aren’t going to be any subsequent posts about the other dog (Penny). I love both of these dorky dummies. I just happen to love Sophie more, so I am writing a post about her. I don’t feel bad about this. Any parents who tell you that they love all of their children equally are rotten liars. My sister and I have both accepted the fact that A.J. is my mother’s favorite and Michael is my father’s favorite. I’m no worse off as a person because of this, and Penny is no worse off as a dog – I still spend $30 per month on her doggy Xanax because apparently having nothing more to do than sleep and eat and chew yummy peanut butter bones and run around in a huge, grassy backyard is so high stress. So, whatever. Here is my post about why Sophie is the best dog ever.

1. Whenever I hit a sweet spot during one of her rub-downs, she squints her eyes and goes into this sort of hypno-sleep-state where she actually snores.
2. She is a total submissive, but she will defend her loved ones (or her food, in that case) if she needs to. She’s gotten the pink wounds on her nose to show it.
3. When she lies on her back, she will daintily cover her lady parts with her tail. 

   

   So dainty

4. Most of the time, except for when she doesn’t, and then she gives me a look like she doesn’t care what’s jangling around down there.
5. Between groomings, she develops little tufts of fur between her toes, which I can’t help but photograph and then post to Twitter, like anyone gives a crap.
6. During the winter, when she is growing her coat, she has these little tufts of downy fur on her rear knees, which have also been photographed and posted to Twitter.
7. She knows when I’m sad, and tries to make me feel better by putting her head in my lap.
8. EVERY TIME I sit down to put shoes or socks on, she backs into me to try to get me to rub her back right at the base of her tail. When I ignore her, she takes two steps forward then backs into me again.
9. I don’t know if this is because she is a Golden Retriever, but she makes everyone smile. I can’t walk her past someone without that person’s face at least showing a flicker of happiness.
10. Her smile is the biggest, most beautiful expression of pure joy. I wish I could be so happy.
11. She LOVES food, which makes her supremely easy to train, but this also means I’ve lost a lot of meals to her determination. Once, she snatched a whole block of cheese off the counter and then galloped around the house gulping it down as I chased her.
12. When I cook, I never have to clean up when I eventually drop, splatter, or spill something on the floor.
13. She’s brilliant, you can physically watch her learn and comprehend new commands.
14. She barks like any normal dog when she is trying to alert you to something (her barks being short and quick, like “HEY!” “HEY!” “HEY!”), but when she is trying to convey something more complicated, like agitation or hunger or potty time, she makes more complicated noises (some version of “Whoooooaaawwwooooowwwooooaaa.”
15. When she has a major yawn, she squeaks at the end.
16. She has the furriest of pants.
17. She knows when she needs to put on the cute face – I was sitting on my couch eating a steak I had just cooked for this one.

    

    Gimme somma dat steak

18. When she gets really excited, she goes on an insane tear, doing frenzied laps around the house or the yard.
19. She takes the leash in her mouth and walks herself.
20. When I pick her up at the kennel, she walks with the leash in her mouth up to everyone in the lobby because she knows it is adorable when she walks herself. Everyone always responds appropriately.
21. She is always excited to see me and wags herself into a frenzy when I walk in the door
22. When I leave, she gives me a look that lets me know she’s going to miss me (I’m sure she then takes the opportunity to scour every garbage can for all the used Kleenex she can eat, but still…).
23. In those ways and in others, she always lets me know I matter.
24. She chews on pinecones… I don’t know why I find this adorable, but I do.
25. Her breath stinks… I also don’t know why I find this adorable, but I do… I would think the pinecones would help.
26. She has this point on the tippy top of her head that just begs to be kissed.
27. She has the softest fur, probably from the stupid expensive diet I have to feed her because of her sensitive stomach, but it always surprises people how soft she is.
28. If she sees a bug on the wall, she will put on this act (and she knows I am watching her, so it is definitely an act) that it is just TORTUOUS to her that she can’t get this bug off the wall. She growls at it, she “Whoooooahahahhaoooooos!” at it, she screeches at me in these plaintive whines. There is nothing more important in the entire world than her needing to get that bug off the wall. I’ve recorded this performance before. The more I laugh, the more she throws herself into the tortured-doggy role. It will go on forever as long as I am paying attention.
29. She prances when she knows people are watching her, but she wants them to think she doesn’t know.
30. This one time, I was with her at a register paying for her bath, and she slowly lifted her head, slowly opened her mouth, and gently took a treat from a basket on the register counter, then slowly retreated to eat the treat – the WHOLE time maintaining eye contact with the woman behind the register. The woman burst out laughing, and I felt bad and asked how much to pay for the treat? The woman told me it was free of charge, just watching Sophie try to be sneaky made her day.
31. She gives the best snuffs – I’m assuming that dog people know what this is, but I’m also fairly certain I made this word up… When she greets people and can get close enough to their face in her greeting, she will simultaneously kiss and snort in the person’s ear. Snuffs.
32. Her boundless capability for love. She LOVES everyone.
33. But she especially loves me. Like the cheesy line in “As Good As It Gets,” she makes me want to be a better person, like I am unworthy of such an amazing dog, friend, love.
34. In the day or so after being groomed, she appears as a fluffed-up version of herself, like she was teased-up and hair-sprayed. Her tail looks like a massive, fluffy fan.
35. When she is done with her business, she spastically jerks her hind legs behind her, first one and then the other. I know she is trying to kick dirt or grass over her poop like all dogs do, but she is just kicking air looking like some degenerate doggy Rockette.
36. She closes her eyes when she chews on a bone, as if in intense concentration.
37. Whenever she is sitting, facing away from me, every so often she’ll throw her head backwards to make sure I’m still there or to indicate I haven’t been petting her enough. So, she’s looking at me upside down, and her cheeks are all flapped open so I can see her teeth and her gums. It’s the silliest most adorable smile ever.
38. When she goes outside in the rain and gets all sogged, she’ll come back in and know she’s not supposed to get on the furniture, but every time she makes me feel guilty about it.

    

    Soggy

39. She gets jealous whenever I give too much attention to Penny, and she’ll insert herself between the two of us.
40. When I got her as a puppy, I could hold her with one hand. She was tiny. She still thinks she’s tiny and always tries to sit on my lap, which I will tolerate for a short time because no one likes to be told they’re not tiny. Here’s her being not-so-tiny.

    

    She doesn't QUITE fit on that bed

41. As a puppy, she would gorge herself on puppy food, and then fall asleep on her back, with her paws over her eyes. Her rounded belly would rise and fall with her sweet puppy breaths.
42. Whenever I am mean to her because I am stressed or angry or due to her naughtiness, she waits me out. She will sit on her doggy bed and look at me until she knows I am calmed down. She then comes over to me in what seems the exact moment when I feel a wash of remorse for my stupid, human behavior and we hug it out.
43. She skips around in this tight little circle while I am filling up their food bowls, like she is simultaneously starving and about ready to get the best meal she’s ever had – which makes me feel pretty good considering I spend $60 on every bag of her dog food.
44. She is starting to get the white fur of age around her muzzle and her eyes, which makes me love her so much it hurts because it reminds me I’m not going to have her forever.
45. I have to clean out her ears once a week, which she HATES. However, she grudgingly obliges after FIRST showing me how much she hates it by trying to burrow her head under her paws, my leg, the covers, etc…
46. After the deed is done however, she will immediately bound out of the room and go stand by the pantry door to wait for a treat.
47. Since I live by myself, she has to be my hero. The bugs in the south are ridiculous. Whenever I see one of those disgusting palmetto bugs, I screech like a small child, and Soph will spring into action. She’ll grab it in her mouth and run to the back door, which I open for her. She then tosses the nasty-ass bug somewhere in the backyard and trots back inside.
48. Her first time at the ocean, she didn’t know what to do. She’d been in freshwater before, but never in water that moves so much and makes so much noise. She spent the entire day jumping over the waves as they hit the beach, but never actually going in the water. She was way more fascinated with hermit crabs, which I had to work to keep her away from so she didn’t get a claw to the nose.
49. Her favorite activity is sitting on the couch watching movies.
50. I’ve never loved anything as much as I love this dog, and I still feel like I don’t deserve her. She brings so much happiness to my life that I can’t imagine ever being without her, and I can’t fathom why I never had a dog before her. It’s scary to love something this much, to feel actual pangs of sickness just thinking about her ever being injured or hurt in any way. She’s also taught me that that’s OK because life is better with that kind of love especially when it is directed towards something so deserving. 

Sophie Mo-Mo Marie, you are the best, and you are about ready to get the best rub-down of your life, so be prepared to start snoring your ass off.

A Chubby Girl's Declaration of Love

First off, I’m already hungry knowing what I’m about to type at you.

I love the Food Network. I am an avid watcher. I always stop flipping through the channels once I see Guy Fieri stuff his big face into some greasy mound, or I see someone (stupidly) try to beat Bobby Flay, or I see any glimpse of mad scientist Alton Brown. I also love watching competition cooking, but I always wondered if performance in competition was anything akin to the quality of the chef, especially since most chefs aren’t given 20 minutes to try and slap something together from gummi bears and kale in some random Chopped basket. I’m not sure of the pecking order, but if I had to guess, I’d assume Iron Chefs were the most elite of the chefs in any cooking competition. Iron Chefs are the rock stars of the cooking world. I just learned that Chef Michael Symon has the best win percentage on Iron Chef at a whopping 82%. Such a statistic would seem to suggest that Michael Symon is a rock god, like a culinary Keith Richards… But does that mean anything?

I’m quite willing to say, ABSOLUTELY. Michael Symon belongs on a pedestal.

My previous favorite restaurant I had basically identified as the whole city of New Orleans. NOLA is so wonderful that it’s hard for me to nail down one place, but if I were at gunpoint, I’d choose John Besh’s August. I could go on for hours about NOLA (crab cheesecake, holy crap), but this is about my NEW favorite. I was in Cleveland last weekend with the manfriend, who is also an avid Food Network watcher and HUGE Michael Symon fan. In order to save a few bucks, we went to Lolita rather than the more expensive Lola for our Michael Symon experience. We decided to order a bunch of smaller plates rather than entrees so we could get more stuff to shove in our mouths. We also (now looking over our choices) were feeling particularly carniverous. Here is what we got:

• ·         Roasted Bone Marrow – meyer lemon, parsley, radish, chili, sourdough
• ·         Mixed Green Salad (manfriend always has to get a salad) – radish, grana padano, red onion, sherry viaigrette
• ·         Cured Meats Big Board – 8 house cured meats
• ·         Crispy Pig Tails and Ears – fennel-onion agrodolce, pickled chilies, cilantro
• ·         Crispy Chicken Livers – soft polenta, mushroom, bacon
• ·         Fried Brussels Sprouts – caper, anchovy, walnut

First of all, let me say that we got a couple of beers and a bottle of wine and our bill was $100. I think one entrée at August would run you $35, so there’s that.

Second of all, there was not ONE thing listed above that wasn’t absolutely stellar. Every time I took a bite, I had to go through an involuntary BIG O face before I could even swallow. However, I want to highlight two things above. I’ve never had pig tails and ears. Maybe you’re thinking these are just the scrap parts. Maybe you are thinking I am gross for ordering these. You better get rid of that attitude right now, you snob. Pig is delicious, and apparently ALL pig parts are delicious. These were so perfect. You bit into an ear and it was this light, crisp exterior that gave way to this melt of fatty goodness. Pork belly? Psshhhht. Bacon? Getouttahere. This is the best chunk of pig I’ve ever had. Michael Symon, you just blew my mind. Now, I want to move on to the brussels sprouts, which the man informed me were on Aaron Sanchez’s list as the best thing he ever ate, fried. I mean, really, BRUSSELS SPROUTS? Again, lose the attitude. YES, REALLY. I can honestly say (with maybe the aforementioned crab cheesecake a close second) I have never put anything this good into my mouth. EVER. They are fried in lard (God bless you , Michael) and come with this tangy vinaigrette so you get this fatty, buttery taste that is cut through with this sauce… well, the sauce has capers in it. I shouldn’t have to say anything more. I must learn how to make these. One year for Thanksgiving, I made a dish with brussels sprouts and bacon for the family. It was gobbled down quickly. I was all proud of myself. I was naïve. In fact, I now think that if a brussels sprout doesn’t pass through Lolita, then it will have given its life for naught.

I have tried to put a chubby girl’s words into the above. I can’t even explain. I just can’t. There are no words for this type of experience. I’ve fallen in love. I would move to Cleveland. Yes, CLEVELAND to have this food even once a month. Michael’s show Burgers, Brew, and Cue just started up on the Food Network. Since I’m now in love with him, I recorded it and watched it, mouth agape, in a stunned awe of someone who could create something so full of joy.

Please, please look him up and go to one of his restaurants. NOW, you fools!

And, no, I wasn’t on drugs during any of this experience.

Chubby girl out.

The Importance of Being a Good Fan

First of all, GO BLACKHAWKS!

This is one of those times I feel lonely, when my second favorite team (after the Bears) wins it all and I am stuck in the sticky, mushy humidity of NC by myself where probably no one cares about hockey. I wish I were home getting stupid drunk on Monday night and skipping work the next day to continue celebrating with other like-minded Kaner fans instead of actually GOING to work a tad hungover after falling asleep almost immediately after a game I watched by myself.

This is not the point of my post. The point of my post takes me back to last Saturday (June 13) when my boyfriend and I ventured out in the city of Louisville, KY to watch Game 5 of the Stanley Cup finals in our full-on Blackhawks gear. We took care vetting places to watch the game. How was the food? How were the TVs? Most importantly, was there going to be sound? We watched the Hawks win at a place called Griff's, named after Dr. Dunkenstein Darrell Griffith (of Louisville legend) because we figured that would be the sportiest of sports bars. (It was awesome.)

So, as I mentioned, the Hawks won. On the way back to the hotel, our shuttle driver, one dapper, hatted, and exquisitely blinged Mr. Greene had to stop by Churchill Downs to pick up some other participants in Louisville nightlife for a ride back to the hotel. Two dudes get in the shuttle. One of them, seeing our red and black attire, IMMEDIATELY starts in. "Oh, DUDE, you guys are Blackhawks fans??? I HATE the Blackhawks." Jesus. I hate people like this. "Are you REAL Blackhawks fans? Do you only know TOEWS and KANE? Do you know who CHRIS CHELIOS is?"

I'm immediately fired up. Yes, I'm a real fan. I know their whole roster. Yes, I know who Chelios is, and you didn't even have to say CHRIS CHELIOS for me to know who you were talking about. My boyfriend was very diplomatic. I shut my mouth so as not to get into some f-bomb death match with a drunken asshole.

It turns out, dude is a St. Louis Blues fan. This doesn't surprise me, but I'll get to that. He goes on to ramble about how it's OK that the Blues (despite being the number 1 seed in our bracket) didn't make it past the first round of the finals because the Cards are so good this year, so that means Chicago and St. Louis are "equal".

This is where I get REALLY pissed. First of all, don't question my loyalty to Chicago. I am a Cubs fan - arguably the most loyal of any sports fans because our team sucks and continues to suck year after year after one hundred years, but I still waste one vacation day every year to watch their home opener. Note - this year they lost it to the St. Louis Cardinals. I am a Bulls fan, and a Bears fan, and a Hawks fan, and a Cubs fan. Do I pay attention to the ins and outs of their rosters every year? No. Do I watch every single game (especially the Cubs post July when they have inevitably removed themselves from Wild Card contention)? No. Do I know who Chris Chelios is? YES. I pay attention, and I never cheer for anyone above any of those teams. Second of all, the Cardinals are the winningest team in baseball after the Yankees. Chicago and St. Louis are not EQUAL. My teams - the Bears, the Bulls, the Blackhawks, the Cubs have about as many championships between them as the THREE St. Louis teams - the Rams, the Blues, the Cardinals, keeping in mind the Rams and the Blues haven't always been in St. Louis (actually, not until recently). So, don't give me some St. Louis sob story, like it's so hard to be a St. Louis fan. BS. If anything, you should find it hard to admit you come from an area where the mention of "Ferguson" to anyone else in the nation fires up images of how racist and backwards your twang-ass area of the country is, or you should maybe not pledge allegiance when the most evil of evil corporations roosts in your city (Monsanto) plotting world domination by suing local farmers and pumping cows so full of antibiotics that a strain of MRSA is becoming strong enough to take over the world. 

The point of this post is that people shouldn't be dickheads, and they ESPECIALLY shouldn't be dickhead fans. This point, especially about St. Louis, is summed up in this wonderful Deadspin post from last season MLB playoffs. Please read. It's fantastic. 

The Mayor of St. Louis is a Complete Dipshit

I lived for a long while in the north suburbs of Chicago. I remember, distinctly, Green Bay Packers fans coming out in their hideous green and gold colors when the Pack wasn't even PLAYING to cheer against the Bears. This is when I first realized the dickhead fan syndrome. Dickhead fans don't only cheer for their chosen teams, they cheer AGAINST other teams and also lambast any fans that are fans of that other team like it is some personal flaw. They try to make it miserable for anyone else to be a fan. They most likely have a small penis and/or are scratching their armpits right now. (Here is my disclaimer. I am from Bloomington, IL which is about halfway between St. Louis and Chicago. My town is split red and blue, Cards/Cubs. This rant is in no way a comment against ALL Cardinals fans, some of which are my very dear friends…)

When they weren't playing MY team, I used to cheer for all Big 10 teams, all NL Central teams, all NFC North teams (except for the Packers as taught by my father… Note - I didn't cheer AGAINST them either) until I learned that if I wanted to be a sports fan, I would also have to become somewhat of a dickhead. "You CAN'T be a Cubs fan if you ever cheer for the Cardinals. That means you're not a real Cubs fan." This was coming from a family of Cardinals fans like I wasn't allowed to usurp their supreme success. I wasn't even allowed a breadcrumb of it. 

So now I've learned that love also has to come with hate. I love the Cubs, I hate the Cardinals. I love the Bears, I hate the Packers. I love the Bulls, I hate Miami (more of a recent thing, I guess?). I love the Blackhawks, and I guess now I hate the Blues. However, I refuse to be a dickhead fan. If your team gets farther than mine, so be it. I won't criticize you as a person, even if I may be sad for my team. Why? Because you weren't responsible for my team losing. So, I'm sorry doucher Louisville dude. Sorry your number 1 seeded team didn't even make it past the first round. Sorry the number 3 seeded team from your bracket won it all for the third time in SIX years thus securing dynasty status. Finally, I'm sorry that your life is so clouded in anger and hate that you can't even appreciate your own teams enough that you have to reign BS-small-penis syndrome down on anyone else who is a fan of another team. 

By the way, doucher admitted at the end of the night (he was at a bar we went to later) that my Duncan Keith shirt was pretty cool and that he was sorry he was being an asshole in the shuttle. This made me happy, but you know what? It really didn't matter if I had received his apology or not. My team won, and then they won on Monday for the Stanley Cup. That is what life is about. Cheer for your team, but don't be a dickhead fan and cheer against anyone else.

About High School

I dogeared the Easy Chair reading from the April 2015 issue of Harper’s Magazine. (Easy Chair: Abolish High School by Rebecca Solnit)

Rebecca is an obviously successful person; in my mind because she is an editor for my favorite magazine. However, she did NOT go to high school. The essay goes on to argue for the abolition of high school - not the abolition of learning, but the abolition of a particularly barbaric (to some) and narrow (for all) means of learning that the large majority of us experienced between the ages of 14 and 18. 

I find this argument interesting because I hated high school. Of course, I loved my friends, and outside the typical teenage dramas, I have very fond memories of SOME of high school. However, I remember going to college and feeling like I was going to get to finally become who I was meant to be, though there were certain strings that remained stubbornly attached well into my sophomore year. I hated high school for making me feel like I needed to conform to some idiotic ideology of what sort of person I was supposed to be - this was particularly frustrating in a conservative (and hypocritical) Catholic institution. Go Saints!

Also, everyone in high school was an asshole. Like, there were tiers of assholes, and everyone got to be an asshole to anyone not in their tier - how these tiers were defined, I am still not aware. I was an asshole, my friends were assholes, and I was treated like garbage by the assholes in the other tiers. Not to mention, we were all young and stupid, so how could any of us defined anyone else’s worth? To Rebecca’s point, why are we all spending our most formative of formative years around a bunch of jerks who can’t teach us much more than we’re teaching them? “There is a real human cost. What happens to people who are taught to believe in a teenage greatness that is based on achievements unlikely to matter in later life?”

I left high school behind a LONG time ago. Since my family is still in my hometown (and barely anyone from my high school actually ever LEAVES B-town for bigger and better things), I did occasionally get to run into high school though never by my own efforts. I used to only spend 3 days or so in Bloomington so as to minimize too much re-exposure. 

The reason I’m writing about all of this is I’ve started dating a boy (because that’s what he is in my mind) that I dated in high school. He still lives in Bloomington, and he’s still friends with all of his friends from high school who were some of the assholes I was friends with when I was in high school. This is very weird for me. I’m still trying to reconcile my overall hatred and loathing for that period of time in my life for my love for this man (boy) who is entirely representative of that time in my life. I mean, his garage code is his high school football number. Really. (I love your face, DJP, but really.)

I’m 36. Would I like to be the younger and cuter Christa of 17? Hell no. I feel sorry for anyone who wants to go back to that hormone-ridden angst. In my mind, they’re all just Uncle Ricos making video tapes of themselves throwing a football. “How much you wanna make a bet I can throw a football over them mountains?... Yeah... Coach woulda put me in fourth quarter, we would've been state champions. No doubt. No doubt in my mind.”

Today, I know my issues with high school are minor. I wasn’t completely ostracized or bullied. The miseries that some kids are going through today (being LGBT or black or poor or acne-scarred or any of the other million differences that define us as people) they are going through largely because they are “imprisoned by cliches” created  solely by these institutions alone. Maybe Rebecca has it right. Maybe abolishment is the answer, to let these kids be around other people (older, younger) who aren’t so self-involved and self-loathing as to want to create and punish anyone in these cliched groups. It’s an interesting argument.

Also, just for the record, I am supposed to say DJP is ALL MAN. His one objection to this scribbling was that I insinuated he was a boy, which he is no longer. That is my lesson from all of this - I kinda like him so I need to get over it.

Grandpa

I wanted my return to blogging attempts to be about something important. Important things have happened and have continued happening in my life. However, I have been unable to pull the one particular important thing from my brain and put it into words, I have been unable to take a deep breath and finally say what needs to be said and what deserves to be said. I know this sounds all melodramatic, but I’m an emotional person, so shut up and don’t judge me.

There are people who pass in and out of your life. There are people you choose to hang on to and there are people who you are supposed to try to hang on to, due to some ill-defined genetic obligation. There are also people you choose to let go. Of all of the millions of people you encounter in your life, maybe a few you prop up on a pedestal; you admire and respect those people.

As an emotional person, per the above, I tend to put a lot of people onto pedestals. This is because it takes my big brain a little while to catch up to my idiot heart; at which point the pedestal crumbles because I discover the person atop it wasn’t worthy, as most people aren’t. We all, as is said of humans, are flawed. However, in my 35 years on earth, there has been one person who never fell, never even stumbled on the top of the pedestal I had erected for him. That person is my grandfather, Duane Weber, who passed away this past August. He is the subject of my “important” blog post. I want to write this for him and for me, but it really is for anyone who lost their hero.

I don’t think humans are inherently good or evil. Each one of us moves up and down that spectrum in life, but not Grandpa. He was an inherently good person. That sounds generic. What I mean is that every action he took was from a pure and good place in his heart. I never saw him show malice, or spite, or greed, or injustice, or anger or any of the other bad words Roget’s Thesaurus can match to those I’ve listed. He was just a good person. He was also adorable. He was nicknamed Dewey and also nicknamed Grandpa Nibbles. I couldn’t think of anyone more adorable if I tried – his little red cardigan, his snickering “hee-hee-hee,” his feigned jump of surprise when we demanded of him, “Look, Grandpa! Look what I did!” My brother and I played him and Grams in Euchre. He sat there smiling sweetly through our bombast and BS, and promptly beat us 10-0. Adorable.

I would like to say I was his favorite, as the oldest grandkid. I’m sure my sister will argue with me on that point, but I do feel that I had a special relationship with him. The truth is, not one of us was really his favorite, and that’s because we were ALL his favorite. He had so much capacity for love that there was no such thing as loving someone more or less than someone else. He just loved. Even after the huge family, spawned out of some sort of German Catholic requisite for procreation, there was still love left over. Of course, not for the rabbits that ate his petunias.

I learned about love from watching my grandparents. They taught me how to have the capacity for love. I can think of no better lesson to teach your children or grandchildren. They were married for 62 years when he died. For almost double the time that I’ve been alive, they had loved each other. One time, they came and visited me at the University of Illinois. We went to dinner, and Grandpa just talked and told story after story while Grams bickered with him, “no, Duane, no, that’s not right.” He ignored her and kept right on talking about Will Rogers or whatever. Their bickering was sweet, though, in good humor as if that had been their strategy to cope through a lifetime of commitment to one person, even though that one person might occasionally be annoying. At my brother’s wedding, they continued dancing while the DJ picked off other dancing couples trying to determine who had been married the longest. When they were of the last two couples still dancing he asked, “Sir, what is your advice for a good marriage?” … “Well…” (he paused), “you need to be able to listen.” We all kind of laughed, especially knowing Grams as being more outspoken than not. However, there is really a lot of wisdom there. I would assume that after 62 years, that our significant other’s voice might easily become some sort of background noise, but not for him. One of the last times I was home to visit, when he had been moved to his new assisted living ward, he showed me his little room. On the wall was a picture of Grams, I went over to look at it, and unprompted, he said, “She’s just as beautiful as when we first met. She’s my best friend.” He taught me that the capacity for love is not only a sign of a good heart, but also of a dedicated mind.

I know at this point in my life I’ve become a non-practicing Catholic. Despite it being past Ash Wednesday and almost Good Friday, the last time I heard mass was at Grandpa’s funeral. I don’t know if I believe in God. In my mind, if God exists, then He exists in people like Grandpa, people who are kind, warm, joyous, and infectious in their own joy. My grandparents, like most of the elderly population, are political. Grandpa had a hard time voting Democratic because, being a strict Catholic, he was against abortion. However, he had an even harder time voting Republican because (and also probably due to his Catholicism) he believed that it was the healthy person’s duty to help the sick; it was the rich person’s duty to help the poor, and it was the strong person’s duty to help the weak. He raved about Keith Olbermann’s broadcasts. We would have intelligent discussions about politics and where this country is going wrong – in Pope John Paul’s eyes capitalism was as corrupting as communism. He taught me to challenge authority, question things, to be curious about life, and not see everything as black and white like the pages of a Bible. Ultimately, this was about love as well. We need to not only love our family and friends, but we need to have compassion for humanity as a whole. We all have that capacity within us. In that way, he taught me what God is as well.

I miss you, Grandpa. I miss your sweet smile. I miss our talks. I know that the person I saw the last time I was home before you passed was not you; it was merely a body. You had already gone to a better place. I choose to remember you the previous time I was home. It was almost your birthday, and when I told you, you perked up in that same feigned surprise, “WOW! It is? How old will I be?” You were still happy and joyous despite the cobwebs clouding your mind. Thank you for being my hero. Thank you for never shaking my admiration and love for you, not even by a single step you took. That pedestal will always stand in memory of you. I love you, Paw Paw. I will always do my best to live up to your expectations of me.  I hope in heaven there are enough petunias for you and all of those rabbits.