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15 January 2009
Khaaaaaaaaaaaaan! May you be buried in fine Corinthian leather my friend.
So this morning, is #6 waking up on Fantasy Island, while Mr. Rourke is wondering why he's wearing a number and being followed by a midget butler carrying an umbrella?
I'm too old... people have to quit with the dying. It's getting on my nerves.
***pause for a story***
My maternal grandfather was a very taciturn type, not much given to the sort of silliness that his wife (my grandmother), his daughter (my mother), her husband (my father), and his grandchildren (me and my sister) were wont to indulge in. So, when my grandparents would come from half the country away to visit, he would silently sit through some time of our hijinx, maybe an hour or two, before he would venture forth with his own contribution to the social stew. Then he would ponderously clear his throat as a signal, and when everybody fell silent, he would ask my mother and/or my father, "You remember Alwin Bisky [or X name]?" and they would answer something like, "oh yeah, he was the butcher who never ate meat! His daughter was in my third grade class.", etc. Then, after everyone said that they did indeed remember Alwin Bisky or whomever, my grandfather would say... "He's dead."
Silence.
My grandfather was like the walking obituary column. "You remember so-and-so?" ... pause ... "He's dead."
(not that this is anything at all like my grandfather. who's dead.)
My grandma's like that now, taz. But at 92, her circle has really shrunk a LOT over the past 20 years, so there aren't that many folks left to memorialize. Plus, her memory is really bad. So she'll come out with the "Do you remember _______?" several times over the course of several days, but it's always the same person about whose death she's informing us.
It's sad, really. It must be so bewildering, to watch all the people you know slowly die off and to wonder when it'll be your turn.