fivebyevif

Eight years ago was doomsday mumblings, Gladiator tickets, funnelcats, birthday/Pamie babble, and 5k awards.

Seven years ago was bad military jokes, pontification, and corrections from Mom.

Six years ago today? Melancholic about being single. A kick in the ass from a kick ass woman named Kim.

Five years ago I was riding emotional rollercoasters, experiencing house anxiety, still pondering being a spinster.

Four years ago I was writing a book, starting to feel iffy about the house, blissfully not a manager.

Three years ago I was going to E3 in Los Angeles, learning to grapple with being a manager, and a couple months away from an ER visit.

Two years ago I was getting a massage and party-bound, still single, still wrestling with keeping my house in order.

One year ago I forgot to post.

So here we are, and I did not forget this time. This is the watermark post of this journal.

I’m grillmaster today at our company barbeque, and I’m up early because I need to pack some things and do a little prepwork. Last weekend we went camping. I found two ticks on me, and Mike found two on him, and that doesn’t worry me anymore. Most of the weekend we relaxed and ate brats and steak.

I had a car accident exactly two weeks ago. The less said about that, the better, but it’s significant, so I should mention it.

But mostly I have been thinking for several nights now how much Papo would have liked some of the changes in the world. I’m sure he would have hated others, but I think he’d enjoy some of the food I’ve found and cooked, and I know he’d like Mike. Certainly the new American love affair with hot peppers would have made him happy. And he’d have fussed over the great-grand-babies/kids: Brooke, Cari, Jay, Brett, Kiryan, Kip, Ben.

In June, Mike and I are taking a trip for my birthday to visit the cemetery where Papo is buried. That’s my birthday gift. Call it morbid, but it’s something I’ve been wanting to do for years, and my birthday seemed a good time to do it.

Tonight I will make beef and mushroom soup, and I’ll remember my granddad. For now, though, I need to chop onions and prep the coolers. I suspect, as a restaurateur, he would understand this.

I love you, Papo. I miss you.