The weekend was good. So good in fact, that I would dare half-hazard an assumption of that it was probably one of the best weekends that I remember. Funny, it wasn't all that eventful, but one of those imperfect moments where you look back, smile to yourself and understand that life's not so bad after all. Even when, in the words of my father, it all goes to dog shit.
Lately I have had a more-than-difficult time with God. I watch my mom and dad struggle, and so many faithful people losing faith. It's hard to swallow after so many years of taking it in. It's like when you eat something that you love and can't get enough of, and then all of a sudden, you've had enough and don't even want to look at it. Until I go to Grampie's.
Grampie makes my world make sense. He takes everything I believe to be true, or what I would like to believe to be true in myself and the world around me, and makes it real. He takes it all in stride. He manages. He creates order. He makes a place at his table for a stranger with a hungry belly. He diffuses the stupidness of pride. He says fuck but doesn't make it sound like a swear. He expects you to tell the truth because no matter how big of a schmuck you've been, when you're honest it won't last forever. He expects you to take responsibility. He's not afraid to let you step out and choose and try and stumble and do it again. He's secure in his own abilities and imperfections and wants the same for you. He understands the moments of being fucking stupid. He believes in homemade donughts and home remedies. He believes in family. I'm 30 years old and he's 87 and I still believe that he'll live forever.
I needed Gampie today and he was there. He said "Come on in sis, fix a plate and tell me what's wrong". I fixed a plate (turkey dinner). "Mom's ugly at me". Grampie snickered. "She'll come around". And that was it. She'll come around. I'll come around. Someone will come around and realize that the whole ordeal was pretty minimal in the whole big deal of things. And we all did. We all came around.
Here's to being fucking stupid, avoiding being a fucking idiot, and hoping that neither one extends further than a moment.
"Nearly every glamourous, wealthy, successful career woman you might envy now started out as some kind of schlep."
Helen Gurley Brown