Once again

Slightly toasted and posting to the blog. So, it took my dad almost two weeks to speak to me after my grampy's funeral. Turns out, not many spoke or had anything specifically nice to say. Also turns out my dad took it harder than he thought he would. Shocking. In other news, there's this boy. One of the ones of which I spoke in an earlier post, but there he is. I'm sure I'll screw it up, but I like him. I really really like him. He's so sweet, good looking, and he seems to like me, but I never know about these things. We talk a lot, and I find him fascinating and engaging. I just wish I knew how to deal with boys. I never know what anything means or what to do about situations. I think part of that is getting married so young, and divorced at a fairly young age. Or, that I'm a little drunk. I get so insecure. And I start to wonder what would have happend if I had fought harder for my marriage. I loved Derek, no doubt. I said a lot of things that I didn't mean, but was confused and didn't know what else to say to justify how I was feeling and behaving. But, in the end, I guess it wasn't meant to be. All of this is rumor from peeps in the Hartford area, but I believe D is remarried now and has a child. He always wanted to be a dad, so I hope he's happy. He'll make a good father. Ugh - no more of this, or I'm liable to waste a perfectly good Proseco buzz by crying about spilt milk, as it were. :) In other news, I think I'm coming home(ish) in a year. If you have friends in admissions at RISD, Mass College of Art, or the MFA School of Art, please let me know. I think it's time for an MFA in sculpture. Can we hang out when I come home? I miss you guys....

The Last Day

Today, my Grampy passed away. It is a hard day, in many ways, but I will remember him well. The way he answered the phone in that "Maine" way by saying "yeeeellow" instead of "hello." They way that he sat patiently and taught me how to use every tool in his wood shop. The way that even when I was a princessy 8 year old, he cut out shapes out of wood for me to make crafts out of and let me sand them and chatter away. The way he was always so excited to tell a story about the museum where he volunteered. The way he would be sound asleep in his chair, but claim to only be resting his eyes. The way he always had a jar of peanuts beside his chair to snack on, and would hand them out. The way he liked mince-meat pie (blech), and not cheesecake. The way he let his cereal get soggy before he ate it. The way he would read stories to my brother, and not point out that I was trying to listen in too, because I was WAY too old for stories. The way he was difficult and hard to know, but somehow never made me feel unwelcome or unwanted. The way he cared about his craftsmanship and tried to produce a good product for a good price. The way he always had his camera ready to take the pictures that are visual reminders of memories formed. The way he taught me to pick out wood in a lumber yard. The way he taught me how to remove a bow from a plank. The way he would let my brother and I take over the TV for video game purposes without complaint whenever we came to visit. The way that the last time I spoke to him on the phone, I said "I love you, Grampy," and he said, "well, I love you too!" back to me. These are all small things, but together they make big memories for me.