Move-In Week & Grandparents

Pt.1: Move-In Week

The weekend started off well. A little road trip with my mom to Ballinger, Tx to place some flowers on my grandparents grave. Her parents. It was a nice drive and we had some good conversation. A drive that we use to take so frequently when I was but a boy. We were either visiting just for the heck of it or we were having big family gatherings for the holidays. My cousins, aunt and uncle and whoever else was around. The memories mean a lot to me and I do miss those days. How quickly we grow up. I made the trip so many damn times I probably have days of my life that could be added up by the time spent driving.

It’s really a rather boring drive, to be honest. Boring because it is just flat ass farm land with nothing at all to see. You pass through two little communities, one with a drawn out speed trap and the other so small that if you blink you would miss it. My grandfather was keen on saying that. Hell, I made the drive the day before when I was going to Abilene with Yvette. I had no intention of making it two days in a row for completely different reasons. If you have the right company, it goes rather quickly and enjoyably.

Ballinger is nostalgic. So many memories. The Park. The duck pond. Little kid adventures. We made our way to the cemetery. The place needed some upkeep but in this kind of heat and drought, what really can one do. We place some nice flowers on their graves. It was a nice moment with my mom. We kind of reflected on the two of them and wondered around the cemetery, looking at various graves before the heat broke us down.

Afterwards we drove around the town and went sightseeing. The Ballinger Country Club and the old house. We made our way to a restaurant both of us had seen for over 20 years but never went, Alejandra’s. The food was amazing and the staff were so friendly. A really neat building that’s been standing for over 100 years. I’m glad to have finally gone inside because for all these years I have been wanting to but just never really had a reason. It was a nice lunch with my mom and the perfect way to cap off the day trip.

That Saturday evening, we had a little birthday celebration for Nadia. It was originally planned for Olive Garden, and I was psyched—I hadn’t been there before. I know it’s just chain restaurant food, but I wanted to go somewhere I hadn’t been. That fell through for a better place: Joe’s Italian, a local joint that’s been serving it fresh for about 20 years or so.

The gathering was fun. We all lingered for a good two hours, stuffing ourselves with food and conversation. That’s the way a good family gathering should be. I ordered the lasagna—I think that’s the only thing I’ve ordered from Joe’s in at least 10 years. Hell, probably longer than that. If it ain’t broke, you know.

A sleepy Sunday. We stayed up way too late and slept in late. I played some of my Nintendo while Yvette went to a first birthday party. I made some grocery runs before getting back home and getting ready for a college going-away party at Yvette’s brother’s. Good food and good times. It was a weekend full of parties.

Move In week on campus. This was basically hell week for everyone. Every last minute task and afterthought is rushed to be completed, Everyone is on edge to make sure that all is perfect for the kids and the parents. The dreaded Move-In Day.

First thing on Monday was dropping off Yvette to have a new tire put on. We had thought that her car was driving a little rough after the trip to Galveston, and we were right. The tire itself seemed to be unraveling—something I would have thought the dealership in Abilene would have noticed when they were working on the vehicle Friday, but no… We drove all the way back on a tire that was ready for a blowout. Bullshit.

The week started with a sigh and relief. Troy was off Monday-Tuesday, so I was filling in for him. Good that he was gone, so I didn’t have to hear him, but bad because I carried his workload. It’s a busy time of year, right before the kids start moving into the dorms. I was busy. It seemed that housing waited until the last minute to check the microwaves in the dorms to see whether they needed new ones or not. If you are going to need 20 microwaves of a certain size, it’s not a simple task on short notice. I cleaned out three stores in town—Lowe’s, Home Depot, and Target—of 0.7 cu ft microwaves. It still wasn’t enough. Had they given us a count earlier, both the week before and during that week, we could have purchased in bulk and been done. Typical. I vote we just go ahead and do that next year so we’re not scrambling around town.

Move-in day was absolutely fucking crazy. I will say, at least Troy was back—and I wasn’t the one buying. So, what was I doing? I was doing Seth’s job, because he decided to take the rest of the week off. Typical. He was pissed about the letter saying we only get a 2% raise. What this means is once again I won’t be having a week in the office. This will be the fourth office week I’ve skipped—either because I’ve been filling in or out of town. Not that I’m complaining; you all know I hate being stuck in the office anyway.

On Thursday, we had our campus assembly—one in the morning and another more relaxed outing after work, with cocktails and hors d’oeuvres. I missed the morning event since I was the only one in the office, but I definitely made a point to show up for the after-work gathering. Poor Yvette had to sit through the same speeches twice, since she went to both.

The food and drinks were much needed. I really enjoyed myself, and it’s always nice to see people that are usually super uptight finally loosen up a bit. The little finger hors d’oeuvres are always fun. Philly egg rolls, lamb, mini beef Wellington, pork belly burnt ends, shrimp… the list goes on. Let’s just say Yvette and I definitely weren’t hungry after work.

It was after dark, and I was finally settling in to relax and watch a show when the doorbell rang. It was my neighbors—apparently, a large portion of one of my mesquite trees had blown over during the afternoon storm and landed on their car. Real bummer. The damage appeared minimal, but still—damn.

The main thing they wanted was to get it off the vehicle, which is totally understandable. They mentioned they had a ranch hand who could help with that part, as long as I paid him. Fair enough. I figured we could sort out the rest from there. I assumed they had insurance that might cover it, and maybe I’d be on the hook for the deductible? I wasn’t really sure.

The week finally came to its conclusion with Friday. The kids were heading to San Antonio to visit their father, and Yvette and I decided to make a date night out of it. I had made reservations at a special spot for us—BIGA Bistro.

The morning hit like a hammer. No one else showed up to work. Seth had the day off, which I knew in advance, but Troy called in—on the Friday of hell week, no less. The worst possible time to be left holding the fort. Now I was covering three jobs and juggling personal bullshit.

My neighbor wouldn’t stop calling about the tree and the vehicle damage. I kept trying to reach my insurance agent, who was apparently unreachable. On top of that, I was dealing with my healthcare provider, trying to get up to speed with the new tech used for blood sugar monitoring. It was a relentless, exhausting day. Constant bullshit from every direction.

But finally—finally—work ended. Yvette and I got all dressed up for our night out. We both needed it. Badly. She looked amazing in a dress that I have never seen before. I tried my best to match her beauty but it wasn’t possible. My wife is beautiful.

We made it to BIGA and ordered some calamari that I’d argue it’s the best in town. I went with the special, and Yvette ordered off the menu. The tired and true menu item was the winner of the night. She out-ordered me. Yvette also finally got the croissant she had been wanting since our first visit a year ago. Only two left and she snagged one.

Dinner was exactly what we needed.

The evening was our first alone in over a month, and the date was beautiful. I love my wife—she makes me so happy. I’ll admit, I can be a pain in the ass. Honestly, I’d venture to say everyone is, but that’s a whole different conversation for another time.

The point is: we mesh. She’s my everything, and I feel truly blessed.

Happy fucking Friday!!!

Pt.2: Remembrance

I’ve been thinking about my grandparents in Ballinger ever since my mom and I visited on Saturday. Oh how much I do miss them. It’s hard to believe they’ve been gone as long as they have. When you’re young, you think they’ll be there forever. Unfortunately, I found out that wouldn’t be the case at a very early age—when my Papa Ted passed away around the time I was eight. Because of my our trip, I’m going to keep this entry solely focused upon my grandparents from her side of the family since memories with them are what Ballinger stirred up.

My Pop was also gone too soon, but at least I had twice the amount of time with him. I was only sixteen when he passed away from colon cancer. I didn’t take it well. He was one of my heroes, and I dreaded seeing him weak. One of my regrets in life is not visiting him as much as I should have before he passed. I look back and know I should have said goodbye. I’ll carry that with me forever.

He was a man who always made me laugh—full of jokes and good spirits. I remember catching my first fish with him. We were at the Ballinger Country Club, fishing on their little lake. Honestly, after all these years, that still stands as my favorite fishing memory. It was just a small perch, but to my young eyes, it was a glimpse into another world beneath the water. I never really had much desire to fish throughout the rest of my life. Quite frankly, I think it’s a little cruel now that I’m older.

Pop also helped teach me how to ride a bike. I remember riding in circles in my grandparents’ neighbor’s driveway during “training.” I pedaled and pedaled until he helped me find my balance. After that newfound freedom, I rode my bike everywhere my parents permitted—and at times, where they didn’t. A kid with a bike was free. I know I would have eventually learned, but I still consider him the one who showed me the way.

A funny aside about him teaching me to ride a bike: he also taught me how to drive a golf cart, which is funny because I still drive one for work. He loved to play golf, and my brother Chris and I loved riding around on the cart with him while he played. The first time he let me behind the wheel was both magical and terrifying. It was exhilarating. I acted as his caddy on those days—until I drove into a tree. I somehow hit the gas instead of the brake. To this day, we joke that I killed that tree.

Speaking of golf, that was one of the only things on at my grandparents’ house during the day—either golf or Days of Our Lives, which Meeme watched. Pop loved his golf so much that he spent a lot of his time not playing it, but simply watching it. To this day, there’s something relaxing about watching golf. It kind of eases me into a calm.

We had lots of adventures with Pop down at the park. He took us places that were supposed to be our little secrets—places off the beaten path, like walking over the creek dam. No one was supposed to be on the dam, so said the sign. But he would take us around the sign and across the creek. It was breaking the rules, and it was all sorts of fun for a little boy. On the other side, we’d head down to the shallow end of the creek to look for mussels and hope to find pearls.

“Pull my finger.” The first time I heard that phrase—I assume most of you know what it means—you pull a finger, and the other person audibly farts or toots. This was followed by, “I must have stepped on a frog.” I laughed so hard as a child that I had to run inside and show my parents. I think they were mostly amused that Pop taught me something like that. Maybe they weren’t amused at all. I’d have to ask my mother.

Meeme was the sweetest lady in the world. She was also beautiful. She always dressed nicely, even on days when it wasn’t practical or she wasn’t feeling well. She had a bit of vanity, but it was part of who she was. She was radiant because of it. She passed away twelve years ago, when I was only 32. It blows my mind how long ago that was. Time is so fluid in how we move through it.

I have a wealth of memories with her. When I was little, we would draw sharks together. She had a bit of an artistic touch, which she passed down to me. I remember how proud she was when I attended my first art classes as a little boy. Throughout my life, she would always ask if I had drawn or painted anything. I wish I could have told her I had. I wish I could have shown her a new painting, but I gave it up after high school. I still wonder why I stopped. I’ve since lost the touch, which makes me wonder if I could find it again.

She loved birds. You might call her an amateur bird-watcher. That love for feathered friends is something she passed along to me. She would call me later in life, when I was attending school at Texas Tech in Lubbock, just to let me know she had seen four cardinal-red birds. It’s the little things like that I remember most fondly.

When I was at my grandparents’ house, Meeme would always make sure to have orange juice for me. I loved OJ back then. Ironically, due to my diabetes, I can’t really enjoy it anymore without consequences. I loved that OJ. I know it was frozen concentrate, but damn, that was the best you could buy.

I also miss her tuna sandwiches—such a simple thing, but also so wonderful. She was a great cook, and her contributions to the holiday spread were always something to look forward to—well, everything except the lime green Jell-O mold. Not everyone is perfect.

I vividly remember all the beautiful plants she had on her patio. She had so many flowers, and everything was always in bloom. When she reached the point where she could no longer hunch over to plant her pots, my mother and I would gather various flora and pot them for her. At the time, it felt like a minor chore, but I still recall how happy she was after we finished. She had a green thumb, which she passed down to my mother and me. It’s more apparent to me now than ever just how much of that was passed on. My mom also has a backyard full of beautiful plants. I joke that there are too many, but in truth, I love them—and I love that she keeps Meeme’s memory alive with every bloom.

Some of my later memories involve small things: trips to the grocery store or helping with chores around the house and yard she could no longer handle on her own. After these little errands, we’d often sit together, eat something I picked up while out, and just visit. Most often, we had The Weather Channel on. We both loved the weather and even knew the names of all the meteorologists on TWC. Our favorites included Vivian Brown, who she thought was so beautiful. I’m sort of glad she wasn’t around when they let Vivian go due to budget cuts.

Memories with them are gifts from my childhood. Grandparents have such a profound impact on a child’s life. I wouldn’t be who I am without them. They helped shape me into the person I am today. Going back to those times with my mother was truly special.

As we get older, we look at the past in a way we never looked at the future. We see things we could or should have done. All those times my grandparents told me the years would go by quicker once you get older—I wasn’t entirely sure they were speaking the truth. Now I know they were.

A summer as a child seems to last forever. As I’m writing this, summer is almost over, and I can hardly believe it, because it feels like it only began yesterday. You always think you have more time. Always time. I know I’m guilty of that.

There’s so much I wish I could go back and ask my grandparents now—what life was like, what it was like growing up, what hobbies they had, what it was like being a parent, what it was like being a grandparent. Simply: what were your favorite books, movies, songs? I wish I had asked more questions. God, I wish I had known them better.

If you’re lucky enough to still have your grandparents around, please cherish them for as long as you possibly can. That goes for your parents, too. Just make the time—because it’s slipping away. Always slipping away.