God Killed My Gerbil When I Was In Fifth Grade

It always marvels me where thoughts come from. Ideas, dreams, and memories bubble up to the surface at the weirdest of times. I was at my parent's house a few weekends back looking at a tree as I rocked back and forth on their patio. I was studying the way the leaves clung to one particular branch. Not for any rhyme or reason. It was more or less because I was there, it was there, and it was something to look at.

As I sat there rocking, gazing up at the branch a memory sprang up. Something I hadn't thought of in ages. In the technical sense I hadn't remembered it happening until that very moment. This is probably because I chose to forget the whole situation due to guilt.

I don't know exactly what my father said. All I remember was that I was sitting in our old van and I got the impression from him that my mother was going to have a baby. If you know my father, you know he has a very snarky, sarcastic, dry sense of humor. I am going to assume my father was being sarcastic. Either way, the seed was planted that I would pretty soon no longer be the youngest child in my family.

This was an Earth shattering moment for me. I was the baby of the family. That was my identity. Think of it as a midlife crisis in fifth grade. If I wasn't the baby of the family anymore who was I?

What was worse was my mother never talked about it. For what seemed like weeks I sat there waiting for my mother to break the news so I could properly grieve over my lost status. But it never came. Which was worse.

In school we were studying parts of the Old Testament. In case you didn't know God was very vengeful in the Old Testament. Burning cities, flooding the Earth, and making people walk in the desert for forty years. I know I am paraphrasing. Still that stuff can be pretty terrifying for a child.

With Old Testament God on my shoulders, I couldn't help thinking I did something wrong. He was punishing me with a younger sibling for something I had done.

One day after school my mother brought my sister and I into the car. She said she had something important to tell us. I prayed, "Dear God, let it be anything else. Anything but another kid. Please anything, but that."

"Laura, your gerbil is dead," I started crying. But not for the reasons that you would think.

I loved my gerbil, PJ. Don't get me wrong. He could do back flips. He had a slightly grey butt that made it look like he was wearing underwear. He also didn't bight very often. Minus the fact his cage could get pretty smelly he was an awesome pet. Still my crying wasn't from grief over him like it should have been. It was from fear and guilt.

Fear because I thought God granted my prayer but took my gerbil as payment. Guilt because if that was the case PJ's death was my fault.

I didn't know what to do. It wasn't fair. While PJ wasn't the dog I always pushed my parents to get, he was still MY pet. I was responsible for him. I kept thinking of what I could have done differently. What would have kept that from happening? My thoughts kept creeping back to Old Testament God. How PJ's life was sacrificed to answer my prayers, like a lot of animals in the Old Testament. Nothing could get rid of the guilt I felt.

PJ was placed in small white card board box from a department store. The kind of box that normally housed jewelry was taped up with my dead gerbil inside of it. I cried as I held it. Stroking it. Thinking of how I would do anything to have PJ back.

Then my thoughts bounced to Lazarus. It could be because that was the name of the department store on the box. I am not too sure. Either way the story of Jesus resurrecting Lazarus came to mind. If my prayers took away PJs life why couldn't they bring him back? Jesus did it so easily. If I prayed hard enough then it could potentially work. In case you were wondering, yes this was my first big brush with death.

I prayed as hard as I could with my hand hovering over the box. Asking God to forgive me for what I had done and telling PJ to rise. Moments later I started to panic. Realizing that if PJ did wake up he was pretty well taped up in that box and was probably suffocating to death again.

I begged my mom to let me open it up. I didn't tell her it was because I thought he was alive again. I think I simply told her it was because I wanted to pet him. Neil Gaiman said it right when he wrote, "I knew enough about adults to know that if I did tell them what had happened, I would not be believed."

Thinking back as an adult I know my mother was right to not open the box. Gerbils carry a lot of bacteria when they are alive. Who knows how much they carry when they are dead? But in my childhood brain PJ was not dead. Well not dead yet. It was a classic Schrodinger situation. Although I didn't know who Schrodinger was at the time.

After a couple minutes passed I felt doubly guilty. I not only killed my gerbil with prayer, I brought him back only to kill him again.

PJ was laid to rest on the side yard of the old house. Mom read some prayers from a children's prayer book. I placed some small purple flowers on his grave as well as a rock to mark where he was. After that I think I had to go to basketball practice.

It is strange to remember the thoughts that I had then. Thinking back I still feel a small amount of guilt. I know it is irrational. But I can't help thinking, what if it was true?

Surprise Fireworks at a Bookstore

I walked into a bookstore the other day for the first time in a long time. Which makes it sound like I don't read. I do. It is just that every bookstore near me has closed within the past three years. The only place I can buy books without going out of my way now is my Kindle, Target, and the internet.
It was like coming home. I've always felt that way in any place that has a good deal of books. How could you not? There before you are hundreds of friends who are willing to let you read their minds. Thousands of people waiting to meet you. So many opportunities for you to be whoever, whatever, wherever, whenever you want.
I walked around the store for an hour or so before settling on the new Neil Gaiman book The Ocean at the End of the Lane. I brought it up to the coffee shop and settled into a seat that looked over the river and city skyline. I was passing the time. Waiting for a movie that wouldn't start for another hour.
I sat in my chair drifting off to another world. Occasionally drifting back in to check the time, observe the city scape, and people watch. There was a couple not too far from me. I could tell they were either on their first or second date. She stated that the reason she doesn't like the NBA is because of the Korean War. I wish I had recorded her argument. It was beautiful, scary, and stupid. All rolled into one.
Thirty minutes before my movie was to start I started taking bigger gulps of my coffee. I debated staying and reading a little longer, but I have this thing about being on time. I hate being late. Even with the previews for the movie taking up 15 minutes, I had to be there right at the start time.
As I picked up my book and threw away my cup I heard a loud boom and a succession of loud crackles. I thought a bomb had gone off until I saw the colorful sparks out the window.
Large loud fireworks were being set off half a football field away from the shop. I walked out on the store's balcony in awe. I was later told they were professional fireworks setup for a festival going on across the river.
At that point I didn't care. There was no space to. Everything was filled with colors, sounds and vibrations. First there was the colorful sparks, followed a boom that reverberated off of your chest. Then ricocheted off of the city then back to you and into your ear.
There were three other people with me on the balcony and a handful below. It was such a sight to see. I felt like a child.
The show went on for 30 minutes. I was late for my movie, but strangely I didn't care. I wish I could've taken a picture. I tried with my phone, but it simply didn't do it justice.

Traffic Sucks: A Short Story

Below is a short story I have been mulling over in my brain for a very long time. I think of it often when i am stuck in traffic. I have finally given it an end but I do not think I am finished writing it. So the something new here is sharing fiction.

____________________________________________________________________

They often carpooled since their offices were a block away. She, however, went into work early that day. They were leaving for Florida that night and her plan was to leave work early to make sure she packed everything they needed.

Mike loved Sarah but her attention to detail often drove him nuts. One of her favorite sayings was, "When you are 5 minutes late you may as well be 5 hours late."

He could hear her say that to him as he inched his car a little closer to the Ford Focus in front of him on I71.

"She is going to kill me," he thought.

She told him to be home at 5:30pm which had come and gone a few minutes ago. He was surprised she hadn't called him.

"The phone," he laughed.

That's how they first met. He was a salesman for an office supply company. She was an administrative assistant. Every week like clock work she would call at exactly 2 o'clock and list supplies she needed. He never really said much to her, and never really cared to until he heard her laugh. He doesn't remember why she laughed, he just remembers thinking it was the strangest laugh he had ever heard. Almost like a horse. On a whim he asked her for a date. Later she would admit she only said yes because she was in shock. For the months she ordered things from Mike she thought his real name was something else and he lived in India.

They dated for three months then moved in together. A few months later they got engaged then married the following week, to their parents surprise. She was Jewish and he was Catholic. Neither were practicing but both of them came from big families who loved to voice their opinions. He really didn't like his in-laws but since Sarah admitted they were crazy he could tolerate them on normal holidays.

They were going away for their ten year anniversary. The car in front of him moved a little further forward. His phone began to ring but he ignored it. He knew it was her. He knew what she'd say.

He thought it best to wait until he got home to explain why he was late. The radio traffic report just came on. Apparently a few miles a head from where Mike was there was an accident. A car slid under a truck and now there was a helicopter on the scene. The radio personality basically said Mike wouldn't be moving for a while.

"Great," he said, "Thanks to some moron I'm going to miss my flight and not have sex for a month."

His phone started ringing. He waited for her picture to pop up and smiled a little before he hit ignore and turned it off. She'd tell him it was his fault for leaving so late. He knew it probably was but he didn't need her to remind him.

He started thinking of what he would tell her when he walked in the door. How his working late paid for the trip in the first place.He wasn't that late anyways, and besides she already packed for him. Mumbling something about being underappreciated as he made his way past her to hurriedly get the suitcases in the car. She'd be pissed the whole ride to the airport and extremely passive aggressive. That was her fighting style. Subtle but loud. But he knew he would be okay if he got her on the dang plane on time.

"Move it!" he yelled. His thoughts drifted to the moron that was holding him up. He wondered if said moron woke up that morning and decided to cause such a mess or if they came by it naturally. Did they know how their actions affected other people? Did this stupid idiot realize how many lives they would be impacting by doing what they did? At the root of it all was the big question, did they know they were keeping Mike from what was to be the greatest vacation ever? Did they even care?

As the song ended the radio personality said that they had shut down all lanes of traffic. He kept saying it would be hours. Hours of Mike being stuck where he was. Because there were no exits between where he was and the accident.

"Stupid, fucking, day drunk idiot!" he slammed his hands on his steering wheel. He sat there waiting. Looking around, the faces in the cars began to become familiar. He could tell most were just as frustrated as he was. He made up life stories for them to pass the time. 

There was Tony in the Toyota. Based off of the empty kid's booster seat in the back, poor Tony too was headed toward a pissed off wife at home. He seemed less frustrated than Mike about this fact. More interested at looking at his cellphone screen than anything else.

Karen in the Kia just looked like a zombie. She had a long work day and just wanted to get home to her three cats Jim Bob, Jonas, and Gemini He could tell she drank a great deal of coffee. "Do zombies prefer caffeinated brains or decaf brains?" he wondered. He then proceeded the create a whole zombie human coffee franchise, before realizing it was entirely implausible. There would be no way to ensure a steady stream of product to the consumer in a zombie apocalypse. 

Looking over at Henry in the Hummer he felt the urge to get out of his car, drive the Hummer over everyone in front of him to give the driver in the accident a piece of his mind. 

An hour had already passed. They were going to miss the flight no matter what now. They used this stretch to get to the airport and from what he could tell traffic was stopped in all directions. "Thousands of people's evening plans are being interrupted because of this dumb ass." He simply couldn't get over how the driving mistake of one person could cause trouble for so many people.

He knew he would be in hot water. An hour of no word was bound to leave her clawing at the curtains.He picked up his phone and turned it on. Instantly it began to ring displaying his wife's picture.

"Hey honey, sorry I'm"

"Who is this?" a person interrupted. It was very hard to hear them. There was a lot of noise in the background.

"Who is this? Did Sarah lose her phone again?" Her phone had been dropped, kicked, stepped on, run over, and thrown in water. A traditional Nokia flip phone. She often joked about how they were war buddies and she could never let go of it. Though she often left it behind when she was in a hurry.

"Sir, you are listed as the in case of emergency contact in this phone. Do you know the number uhhmm I am calling you from?"

"Yes it is my wife's number."

"Sir, I saw the whole thing and found her her phone in the car. It works and so I've been trying to call you."

"What? Who is this? What's going on?"

"I've got someone on the phone. Her husband," he could hear the person yell. There was some ruffling and then a different voice, "Sir, I've got some news for you. A Mrs. Sarah White has just been in a car accident. We just got her out of the car and will be transporting her via medevac to Good Sam. Do you have any questions?"

My interview at JC Dillarcy

So, I've had a lot of free time lately. I decided that it might be a good idea for me to get a part time job for a little while. Not to toot my own horn but I am very good at customer service. Also landing a job in customer service isn't that difficult. With my five years of experience it wouldn't be that hard to get a job. With that in mind I applied for a position at a department store. We shall call in JC Dillarcy's.

I received a phone call the following day requesting an interview. I set it up for two o'clock. The woman that I talked with on the phone told me to go to the customer service desk on the second floor. There I would find a computer with a red phone. I was to fill out some information on the computer and dial a number on the red phone. Someone would then come out and interview me.

Pretty straight forward. I didn't even think to write down the name of the woman I talked with on the phone. In hindsight that was a bad call. If any of my younger cousins are reading this, always write down the name of the person you are going to interview with.

So I managed to make it to the mall on time, but failed to make it to the store on time. This strange happening is due to the stupid dummy that designed the parking lot. I could see the store. It was simply too far away to walk to, and I couldn't get my car over there. Sometimes I think the all encompassing "they" should come up with a gps for mall parking lots.

I arrived to the interview about 10 minutes late. I wasn't too worried. Dear younger cousin, if you are reading this, NEVER SHOW UP TO AN INTERVIEW LATE. That is unless you are me and are simply looking for something to keep you from being bored.

So I walk in, head up to the second floor and couldn't find customer service anywhere. Eventually I ran into a very nice sales associate working in the home goods, we shall call him George. I explained that I was there for an interview and needed to find Customer Service. He then told me to walk to the Salon and off to the left I would find the Customer Service Desk.

Sure enough, I walked to the Salon and off to the left, through a slightly hidden door was Customer Service. There was no computer or red phone, like I was told there would be. Only a slightly perturbed woman sitting at the desk.

"Hello, my name is Laura. I am here for an interview."

"Okay," was all she said.

"I was told there would be a computer for me to fill out some information before hand."

She sighed and looked up at me, "Do you know the name of the person you are interviewing with?"

"No, unfortunately I forgot. I am interviewing for a sales position though."

"Go upstairs you will find a computer right when you walk up. Take the test and follow all of the directions. Someone will then interview you."

"Where are the stairs?"

"Right next to the door you just walked in."

Sure enough right next to the door hidden in the Salon was a super sketchy set of hidden stairs.

I walked up the steps and instantly felt like I was on a set for an apocalypse movie. I can never get over how clean retail stores can be on the sales floor and extremely dirty they are in the back. This is the most extreme case I have ever seen. It was pretty much an abandoned cube farm with many likewise abandoned offices off to the side. It was dimly lit with manikins placed sparsely throughout. Every other light was on. There were no windows.

Sure enough as I walked up the stairs directly in front of me was an early 2000s Windows computer and a red phone. I could tell the computer was on but I couldn't get it to wake up. I touched the mouse, pressed some keys, turned the monitor on and off, even tapped the power button. Nothing happened. I then turned it off and turned it back on again. It took five minutes to load. By this point it was 2:30 pm.

I got through the survey that was basically trying to surmise if I am an axe murderer. Those surveys are so easy to fool. With questions like, "Do you go out of your way NOT to talk to people?" and "Is it moral to steal office supplies?" It is pretty much a no brainier for the average bear.

After getting through the survey a screen popped up telling me to pick up the red phone and dial some numbers.

"Customer Service, how can I help you?"

"Hi, I just got finished with the career survey. It told me to dial this number to setup an interview."

"Do you know the name of the person you will be interviewing with?"

"No, I forgot to write it down."

There was an audible sigh on her end, "Hold on, I will call you back."

I sat there for a minute or two. The phone rang.

"Hello."

"Do you have time for an interview today?"

"Yes," I replied.

"Wait five minutes and I will call you back."

I waited. I eventually caved an got out my phone and started texting people. The red phone rang again.

"One of our Sales Managers, George, will be up to see you shortly."

"Great, is there a restroom I could use?"

She told me it was along the far wall to the left of where I was sitting. I walked down the aisle through the abandoned cubicles. They weren't filled with storage. In fact they were setup with desks, chairs, phones, keyboards, and mice, but no computer monitors or computers. Either everyone was on vacation and works on laptops, or no one sits there anymore. I was leaning more towards the no one sits there.

As I walked out of the restroom, I could see the George I met downstairs. He was walking around the cubes. A couple of times he looked right at me. I smiled at him and waved, but he just kept on looking. I walked back over to the desk and sat down at the computer with the red phone. He then approached me and said, "You must be Laura!" in a really high sales pitch voice.

I wanted to say, "No shit. Do you see anyone else up here?" I opted for the more polite, "That's me."

He took me to a small dusty conference room where he proceeded to talk about his career for 30 minutes.

He would ask me a question, "How many years have you worked in retail?"

"I have five years of experience working in retail."

"Oh, really? You look so young. I hate it when people say that to me. They tell me I am too young to be a manager, but I've been one for two years. Not here though. I've only been here for a few weeks. I've had four other jobs before this one. All in management. I enjoy working with people. All of my jobs have been retail..."

Suffice to say that was the easiest interview I've ever been on. All I had to do was smile, nod, and say "Oh that's interesting" every couple minutes. I passed with flying colors.

He then proceeded to ask me if I had time and who I was initially here to interview with. When I told him I didn't remember he proceeded to run through the names of all of the managers. First names only. All of the names were ones like Ashley, Jill, Samantha, Holly, Jennifer, and Tiffany. Then asked if any of those sounded familiar. Of course they all did. I said Ashley and Jill but I wasn't sure.

"Well Ashley is off today and Jill is on maternity leave. I doubt it was any of them. Stay here for five minutes and I will see what else needs to be done."

By this point it was 3:30. I had nowhere to be that day, so I just hung out in the dusty conference room. I found the interview more entertaining and less serious.

"Hi, what's your name? I'm the store manager."

"I'm Laura," I got up and shook her hand.

"Well Laura, do you know who you are going to be interviewing with?"

"Unfortunately, no. I don't remember her name."

"Okay well you will be interview with my Assistant Store Manager. Follow me." She led me through the cubicles, down another hallway, and through some double doors.

"Is it nice out?" she asked.

"Yes, a little hot. I am told it will rain today.

"I can't tell from in here."

I wanted to say, "because you don't have any windows." but I opted for, "You should get out and enjoy it at some point."

"I think I have grown too use to my controlled climate. I don't have to worry about rain."

We reached the Assistant Store Manager's office when I said to the Store Manager, "Ya, if it rains in here you've got bigger issues."

The Assistant Store Manager wisely told me that it can't rain inside. The Store Manager left without saying goodbye. With no introductions I simply said, "My name is Laura."

"I know, please take a seat." She had my resume in front of here. There are a lot of experience she could have asked me about on that piece of paper. I should know. I wrote it. Every single one of them stretching back to 2005 lists where they were located and how long I was there. She chose to ask me why I decided to move here from Alaska. I worked in Alaska for one summer in college. The remainder of my time has been in or around Cincinnati.

That's how the interview went. She would tell me about the job, then ask me a random out of the blue question.

"So you aren't commission based. However, higher sales mean a larger salary in the long run. What was your reason for leaving your job in 2010?"

This interview went on for maybe 15 minutes. She told me the amount the position made, and the hours it required. She then told me I had class on Thursday. Never told me I had the job. Just told me I had to be at class on Thursday at 10am with two proofs of ID.

When I told her I had plans for Thursday, she then moved the class to Friday. I ended up not taking the job that was never technically offered to me. Oddly enough not because of the interview process. More because of the distance from my house.

BB Riverboats

A few months ago I bought a pass for the BB Riverboats. It was literally the day I decided to challenge myself to do new things. I know I went on a cruise for a field trip in grade school. The key things I remember are, I got to hold a tarantula and they had good burgers.

I scheduled a cruise for my mom, 2 sister and myself for Saturday May 4th, Derby day. That Friday it was decided that we were all going to dress up for the cruise like we were going to the Derby. AKA we were going to rock the biggest brimmed hats we could find. Which is a great idea, minus the fact I can never find a hat the fits my large head.

That's right, a long with my size 13 feet I have a head that is too big for most hats. I could joke about how it means my brain is just that much bigger, but it kind of bums me out. Seriously I would have such an extensive cute hat collection if they could fit on my noggin. Like shoes, it is normally impossible for me to find a cute hat the fits. Which might actually be a good thing. It isn't so much of a drain on my bank account.

My mom and sister Michelle took me to Target that night. They had me try on cute hat, after cute hat. There were royal blue hats with cute flowers. A hat that reminded my of Mary Poppins. All of which looked cute on the rack. Really they were darling. But after plopping them on my head and trying to force it on as hard as possible, the effect wasn't so cute. 

The normal look I manage to accomplish
while trying on hats.

I wanted to give up. Seriously, I was half tempted to just forgo the whole hat thing. But Michelle, Julie, and my mom weren't as ready to give up as I was. When I got to my parent's house that day my mom gave me another hat and told me to "Just try it." It was a wide brimmed beach hat I got for Christmas a few years ago that never fit. I donned the hat to prove my point. Low and behold it fit! My mom cut the band at the base and stretched it. That my have ruined the integrity of the hat, but it would at least hold up for the day. Which is all I needed.

 Derby Day Attire

The ride to the boat was a little nerve wracking. In my traditional fashion we some how ended up getting lost on the way there. I am the queen of getting lost. I have a Garmin in my car and Google maps on my phone and I still manage to lose my way. Honestly, I think that takes some kind of genius. We found ourselves at Big Daddy Liquor. From there Julie guided us to where we needed to be.

We managed to make it in time but at the back of the line for the boat. Which meant we got slim pickings for seating. All of the seats on the perimeter of the deck were taken. Leaving us with 4 seats in the middle. I was kind of bummed. I really wanted us to have fun. This was the first outing like this I ever planned for my sisters and mom. I didn't want it to be a let down.

Mom trying to get people
on the shore to wave

I should have known better. Honestly, I think I could have fun with those ladies simply sitting on a mound of dirt. We got some drinks from the bar after the boat got moving and listened a little to the tour guide. I didn't really pay much attention to the tour. The scenery was beautiful and it was nice being on a boat. I love boats. The stories coming out of the mouth's of the ladies I was with were more interesting.

Half way through we managed to get seats around the edge of the boat. It ended up being a really lovely day.

When the cruise ended we walked down to Claddagh Irish Pub and sat looking at the river some more. I had such a great day. Anytime we have girl time in the family is great. I love all the boys in my family. But girl time with all three of these crazy ladies is so rare, that when it happens it is bound to be special.

The History of Signs

Let it be known that I love history. You may have heard me argue before that without a healthy appreciation for reading you cannot understand any other subject to its full extent. I still maintain this argument. I love reading as well as history. If reading and history were people reading would be like my parents. History is more like my sexy husband.

I am extremely fascinated with every age in history. It is hard for me to choose a favorite era. I do hold a flame for Queen Elizabeth but WWII is pretty amazing. Not the battles really, but the people and the cultures, and even the art of that time.

One of my favorite things to look at are things that were not meant to last. Items that were truly made to serve a purpose and be disposed of quickly. I feel that these items tell you more about the culture at that time than any political document. I wrote one of my final papers in college on WWII propaganda. Primarily Norman Rockwell's Four Freedoms posters. When the bulk of the WWII propaganda posters were made they were usually printed on extremely poor paper. They were meant to hang in public areas for a time and then be thrown away. Not kept, or really thought of as art. But they are art and invaluable historical documents. Likewise could be said for a Campbell's Soup can.

I could go on about these topics, but I will stop myself for now. The reason I wanted to share that with you is because I wanted to present you with the type of mind set I was in when I went to the American Sign Museum in Camp Washington. You may have heard of it before. You might have scratched your head and thought, "Well that is odd." Honestly, it is odd in the greatest sense of the word.

I traveled there with my father and very pregnant sister one rainy Sunday afternoon. They kept asking me how long it was going to take and what they should expect. The answer was simple and a little annoying to them, "I don't know." I had read about it in the newspaper months ago. All I knew was that it was a collection of signs throughout the years.

The building it is in is really in more of an industrial district. Unless you are looking to get something black oxided, heat treated, or welded the only reason you would be there is for the museum. As we pulled up my dad instantly recognized an old Holiday Inn sign. I honestly forget where he said it was from. Still, it was the first sign we saw.

When you enter the building, the main lobby is very stark and plain. We had just made it for the two o'clock tour of the museum with founder Tod Swormstedt. He is a pretty cool fella who knows his way around signs.  I highly recommend going on the tour for your first visit. There are a lot of plaques and so forth throughout the museum but Tod really knows his stuff.

The signs are set up to take you through the progression of technology and design through the ages. The materials and styles used are very indicative of the time. There is one room I walked into and instantly felt like I was on Madmen. The signs in the museum are local as well as national.

I could go on and on about the history and how cool it is. But honestly, I want you to discover it for yourself. On any given rainy day go up there and learn something new.

There are three neon lights around each wheel.
They alternate turning on to  imitate spinning. 

At the end of the tour we took some time to talk with Tod Swormstedt about all of his different projects. He talked about how they got the Mail Pouch Tobacco barn in the building. We heard a few stories about some signs he wants to acquire. The trickiest thing was keeping him on topic. He tended to go on tangents that didn't really answer our questions. Still he gave us interesting facts and stories.

The coolest thing was he took us to the back warehouse and showed us a "Fergi" sign that got a little banged up. Now I honestly don't remember the Ferguson Car Wash but I do recognize this sign. He is the car that is on top of the Trotta's Pizza sign. My family never frequented there or the business that was there before. It still is a sign that I remember looking out for when I was a kid. He sat on top of a sign a couple of stories up. I thought it was funny because he was in a car with no place to go. I also thought the shine spots were explosions, or balled up pieces of paper
. This "Fergi" is from a different location, and isn't the one I I giggled at as a child. Still, it is nice to know that someone is keeping him safe. Preserving him for another generation of young kids to giggle at and question.

The Saddest Sound in the World: Memories of Grandpa Hand

I woke up on Monday morning in my old room at my parent’s house. Mounted on the wall is a picture of sailing ships. In the picture there is a brown spot. Looking through an adult’s eyes the spot is either a rock or a person’s head. In the old house, on Glenhaven, the picture hung in the family room.  As children my sister Michelle and I said it was a gerbil. An odd memory to have, still it was the first thing that popped into my head when I woke up that morning.

After that, thoughts ran rapid fire through my mind. I wondered if Michelle was up. Normally when I stay the night at my parent’s it means it is a holiday and she and Tom would be there. I couldn't think of what holiday it was. I checked my phone and realized it was Monday, and Michelle was in Louisville, and there was no holiday. Then I remembered why I was there. This whole process took less than a minute.

Memories are funny that way. When you forget sometimes you work very hard to remember a minor detail. Then you remember one key fact, and it all comes back to you. Not in waves, or any kind of rush. That means it is coming back to you in a series. For me anyways, it is as if it all appears. One recalled item brings into existence every other fact again. Most of the time I am pleased when this happens. That morning, I wasn’t.

I was at my parent’s house because my Grandpa Hand died. It is surprising how hard it is to type that previous sentence, let alone read it. I know it is a fact, but I don’t think it is. I’m not ready to. It is not because I have any kind of regret, or unresolved issues. He knows I love him. Some people would say that since he lived well into his 80s that he lived a full life, and it is somehow okay that he isn’t here. I, however, am selfish.

I am one of many cousins. When I was in grade school my Grandpa would invite us all over for what he liked to call Spoil Your Dinner Parties. There we would drink root beer floats until we burst. Grandpa always said there was nothing sadder than the sound a straw makes when you reach the end of a root beer float. There really is only one way to make the best root beer float. That is, fill a glass up with the cheapest vanilla ice cream you can find and stir in A&W. I honestly don’t know why it has to be the cheapest ice cream. It really does make a difference.

All told my Grandpa had 7 children and 31 grandchildren. All of us are bound to have different kinds of relationships and memories with him. Some good, others not so much. He was human. Memories are all that are really left of him now. There are videos and pictures. Polite reminders. But looking at those without the memory to go with it, you can’t aptly describe or understand that moment in time and what it meant.

I’ve been going through old photos with my mom. There is one picture we found of him with my two older sisters. They are in his backyard, wearing their bathing suits, covering him with either shaving cream or whip cream. Whichever it was you can almost feel the happiness radiating from that picture. My sisters were kids. Julie was probably no older than 7 so I must have been around there somewhere. However, I do not have any memory of that moment in time. I don’t know why they are doing what they are doing in that picture. Only that they did it, and had a lot of fun while it was happening. That is not my memory to hold onto.

There are some memories that aren’t particular moments. There are traits. Things that happened or were said and done multiple times. Grandpa liked to whistle. There was one song in particular that he whistled often. I had asked him what it was from or the name of the song. He said he couldn't remember. If you knew him I am sure you know the tune I am talking about. The song might not come to mind instantly. In fact, you might be wracking your brain for the first few notes right now. I am sure though that if I whistled the first three notes you'd remember it all.

 I think at this moment a lot of us are grasping for memories. Things that at the moment they happened we thought were of little importance. Now we dig down into the trenches of our minds to uncover every detail and facial expression about each moment. It seems that even if the moment is one month ago or twenty years ago we want to store it now and save it.

All those times playing Michigan Rummy. When I was brought to his house after getting sick at school. When we ate at Perkins and I picked up a plastic duck out of the toy well. Scavenger hunts with invisible ink. Getting in trouble for playing with cars on the treadmill. Watching King Kong in Florida and It’s a Mad Mad Mad Mad World. Hiding our gag gifts in the house after the Christmas party. Eating pie. Playing Dungeon Dice. Wheel of Fortune and Frogger on the old computer. Learning how to tie my shoes, multiple times. I wasn’t a quick learner. A wind chime made from AOL discs.

I don’t remember how old I was or the time of year. I was standing in the dining room at Grandpa’s house and there was a crystal hanging from the window bouncing rainbows all over the walls. I stuck out my hand and thought it was so cool that I was holding a rainbow. These are the memories I have the privilege of keeping.

I am 26 years old and in a way I am lucky. I have only had 3 people I love pass away. My Grandpa Schwendenmann, Uncle Mark, and now Grandpa Hand. All three of them gave me great last memories to hold onto. It is actually strange looking back how perfectly each moment encapsulates each one. You may say I am looking into each past moment with rose colored glasses, and you might be right. But they give me comfort.

The true last memory I have of my Grandpa Schwendenmann is unconscious, and hooked up to a ventilator. I don’t count that really. The last time I spoke with my Grandpa Schwendenmann was at Price Hill Chili. The image forever burned in my brain is him looking at the first pictures of his first great grandson. He wasn't able to ever meet my nephew, because Grandpa was very sick. But I could see the anticipation in his eyes. He tried to tell me how special I was, and what great things I would do. I say tried because Grandma Schwendenmann kept talking over him trying to get me to trade purses with her. I don’t remember if I did. Grandpa Schwendenmann always said things like that to me, in hindsight though maybe he was saying goodbye. He rarely ever said it, but goodbye was his last words to me.

Uncle Mark was at my graduation party. He was sitting on the floor of my parent’s tv room showing us a silly video he made for his sister-in-law’s birthday. A lot of laughs went on that night because of it. He would rewind some moments and tell us to pay close attention to others. He was proud of that video and had every right to be. It was funny, like him.

I was at the Delhi library a few weeks back. I couldn't actually tell you the day, again it didn't seem important at the time. I was checking out my books when I felt an arm come around me. I was at the library alone so my automatic reaction was to swing my arm. Luckily I noticed it was Grandpa before I swung. He told me how he stopped in the library every time he drove by because he and Sharon sometimes forget if they have anything on hold. He asked me about my crazy future plans, and told me what he thought I ought to do. He then told me about how if he ever saw any book us grandkid’s put on hold he would write little notes on the slips. As I turned to leave, I was in a hurry to get somewhere, I said that I loved him. The reason I remember that is because all he said in response was, “Okay, goodbye.”

I didn’t see my Grandpa Hand every day, or even every month. I think that is why it is so easy to deny that he is gone. Monday I will have to face that fact. It will be hard. But Allison Hand actually provided me with a very comforting image. She said that she now pictures Grandma and Grandpa Hand sitting on a park bench listening to Uncle Mark playing the guitar. I think that would be a pretty good memory to have, someday. It isn’t mine yet. I got a lot more living to do before then.