Grandaddy's Memorial Service

I was touched to hear the stories shared at Grandaddy's memorial service a few weeks ago. From some of my mother's cousins to the manager of their trailer park to my own sweet family -- each story was a tiny picture of the impact he had on those who crossed his path. 

Brian, the kids and I had come up with quite a list of things he "always" said. Some were funny, some old-fashioned, some were just distinctly "Grandaddy."  After many humorous and personal stories, I was the last to speak and closed with the two or three things he asked us over and over. I hope you are encouraged as you read:

He asked so many times over the years, “Why on earth did you and Brian take me in?”  

I answered him dozens of ways. I figured since he kept asking, he didn’t really get it. At first, I couldn’t honestly say it was because I loved him, because truthfully, I didn’t really know him.  Of course, we’d visited over the years -- he lived in a different state and my birthmother died when I was young, severely weakening that family tie. But we didn't visit terribly often and not long enough to truly know one another. So I might say, “You’d help me if I needed it, wouldn’t you?” And he’d be satisfied for a while. Then, not too many days or weeks later, he’d ask something along the same lines again.  By the end of those 12 years, my answer could honestly be “because I love you.” 

I got to know him and I loved him.  

I learned that even though he barely finished 11th grade, he was very, very smart.  I learned that we both enjoyed Southern cooking and fresh cotton candy.  I learned that he could fix just about anything. That he was comically-frugal when it came to spending money on himself and surprisingly generous when it came to the family.  He told some really wild tales of what his life was like before he met Grandmother. Many can’t be repeated in mixed company. And he told some precious stories that explained his love and devotion to her. I got to know my own mother in a way that I never had before. 

He adored the kids.  One time I needed get something done, but Ava was hungry, so I plopped her in his lap and gave him a bottle. He laughed and cried at the same time when he said he’d never even done that for his own child. I learned that after my mother died, he went through a spell of about six weeks not being able to speak.  Actual laryngitis brought on by his unspeakable heartache. I watched him read to my children when they were little and I watched him patiently listen to them read when they were just learning. When they were learning how to ride bikes with no training wheels, you can hear his voice cheering with the rest of us on the video. I learned that he was always game for an adventure — we went on road trips; we went camping and walking; we roasted hot dogs out back and marshmallows in the fireplace. He even let us set up the Wii game in his room so he could watch the kids play and he even bowled with us a time or two. 

Now, I’m not saying everything was always moonbeams and rainbows.  Anytime, you share a house with someone, there’s bound to be conflict and troubled spots and we had our share. In fact, some things were very, very hard. But if there were times he ever thought he stepped out of bounds or hurt my feelings, he would apologize through tears the next day. These are things you do for people you love. You go through the troubled spots, apologize when you need to and move on to the next adventure together.

So by the end of 12 years, I could genuinely say, "Because we love you. We want you to feel loved and be well cared for and have joy in your final days. That’s why you are here. We love you." And then sometimes, when we’d leave or even just to say goodnight and “I love you,” he’d look up and say, “You do?” Like he didn’t fully believe me. I think maybe losing his parents at such a young age left him longing for constant reassurance of love.

As Brian said mentioned in his remarks, Grandaddy became a Jesus follower in his mid-90s. and along the same lines, over the years, he would ask about the love and forgiveness of Jesus. If he asked us this once, he asked a dozen times, “Does the Bible really say we’re forgiven of ALL our sins?”  

"Yes, Grandaddy. Once and for all. Forever. Forgiven forever.  God loves you that much. Nothing you’ve done can make Him love you less." It was really hard for him to believe.

At the end of Romans, the Apostle Paul asks, "Can anything separate us from Christ’s love? Does it mean He no longer loves us if we have trouble or calamity, or are persecuted, or are hungry, or destitute, or in danger, or are threatened with death? No, despite all these things, overwhelming victory is our through Christ, who loves us."

It's a great reminder that no matter how people might fail us, God's love never will.

Some of the words to the last song Darrell’s going to sing are about being revived again - asking for our hearts to be filled with love.  We ask those things so that we can show love to any and all who are put around us. Even when it’s hard and even when they need a lot of convincing.

Whether we’re 3 or 103, one of the main things we desire in this world is to know that we are loved. To truly believe we are loved. Well, Grandaddy was loved and he always will be. And I hope that where he is, he’ll never doubt it again.

First 3D Movie

Summer of 2009
Little Rock, Arkansas
Ice Age: Dawn of the Dinosaurs



You see all my brood with Ava in Logan Adcock's lap. The "Nuddah Mckena" in the middle.





I wish I had pics of the next time we went to a 3D movie last summer. We took Grandaddy to see Toy Story 3. He said he didn't really understand the beginning (that would be the previews,) but he liked it once it got going. Anything with cowboys you know....

Art

When we first moved back to Bloomington, I took Grandaddy on a driving tour of Indiana University's campus. I showed him the library and Sample Gates and other buildings where I spent a lot of my time in grad school.

We passed the Musical Arts Center and I told him about my job there in the ticket office and my dear friends I met in that tiny little room behind the windows. When he saw the stabile in front of the building he said, "What's that?"

I said, "Art."

We rounded the block and drove past the Union where I confessed to buying a no-bake cookie almost every day I walked through the doors. On down the street, we drove in front of the IU Art Museum and another orange structure made him ask, "What's that?"

I said again, "Art."

As we drove closer to the IU Auditorium and he spied Showalter Fountain, a statue with a naked lady splashing around with fish between her legs, he said...

..."Now THAT'S art."

Keep it Handy

In various places around my house you'll find an emory board. My desk drawer, a kitchen drawer, every purse, my top dresser drawer, etc.

When we were in town a few weeks ago, Grandaddy asked me if I had a good emory board. Well, I have one of those handy things that hooks in your air vents as a cup holder, in case you don't have any built in. Since we have them built in, I use that for ink pens, mascara, a tire gauge and, you guessed it, an emory board. So, I handed it to him and he promptly put it in his shirt pocket.

I said, "Go ahead and use it."

"No, I'll use it when I get home," he said.

Not wanting to lose a well-placed emory board, I continued to encourage, "Just fix your nail real quick and I can put it right back."

"I'm not going to use it on my nail. I need it for my tooth."

I pulled it back out of his pocket and promised him his own emory board set when we got home.

It's Never "Just" a Meal

With Brian in Singapore all week, I had a sweet friend offer to bring us a meal.  It turned out to be a blessing beyond what I would've thought to ask for and I'm sure beyond what she thought she was offering.  Here's part of the thank you note:

"There's no way that saying "thank you" is enough.  I know about meal making...it's a gift, a blessing.  Sometimes it's easy to double the batch.  Sometimes it's a real stretch to get it together for your family AND someone else's.  Sometimes you can't tell if it's filled a real need or if it's simply taken as a kind gesture.

Tonight, when I would've been preparing a meal for five, I was able to fix my Grandad and me something to drink and sit with him for a while.  We started watching Bonanza and during the first commercial break he said, 'Well, I'm glad you've got a spare few minutes and I'm glad you've decided to spend them with me.' The kids came in and the five of us curled up in his room to watch the guys with the white hats win again.  When we got up to go to the kitchen for your yummy chili he reached out and took my hand.  He smiled real big and shook his head...sometimes when he gets emotional he can't get the words out.  He said, ' I don't get lonely often, but I do sometimes and I'm glad you've been here this evenin'.'"

So, thank you.  For thinking of us, for the chili and for letting me have a few unexpected and special minutes with my Grandad."

You'll never know what a blessing you give when you offer to serve someone else.  Thanks to my friend for the reminder.

Gooder 'N Snuff

Living with another person can be hard. And, if you're selfish and controlling and particular, like me, it can be really hard. I've come to laugh about this now, but I can tell you it took a while.

I've written before about how Grandaddy takes care of his own needs for the most part. He'll eat my cooking only occasionally so we dance around each other in the kitchen at meal time.  Admittedly, he tries very hard to "get outta y'alls way" if he thinks he's in it.  For instance, if it's Wednesday night, he waits until we're finished eating because he knows we're headed out to church.  Same on Sundays.

As I said, it's a bit of a joke now, but it seemed like I would get everyone fed and dressed in their finest and head to the bathroom to get myself ready.  When I open my bedroom door on Sunday mornings the wave of smoke that hits me is astounding.  He cooks everything on high, so the toast is crispy and the pork is burnt.  I was sitting on my couch last week as he'd just sat down with his breakfast.  The sun helps me tell the story...


Can you see the haze INSIDE my house?  And, that's all the way toward the front door...TWO rooms from the stove.

So, I apologize to my fellow church goers if I smell like burnt sausage on Sundays.  I do get irritated.  I double the perfume or skip it all together some times. I want to take away his cooking privileges on some days.  But it's all worth it when he makes me look him in the eye and says, "Kris, you're gooder 'n snuff and not nigh as dusty."

Bonus points if you remember the comic strip that line is from.  

Trick or Treat '09

How many Dads would dress three kiddos in costume, take them to a neighborhood hot dog roast and escort them on a trick-or-treating hayride without the momma around?  Not many! But that's what my man did this past weekend while I was away.  I think it helped that none required fancy make up like last year.

Toothless, Blonde Flamenco Dancer (there's one on every street)

Pirate (complete with hot cocoa stains on the shirt)

Ladybug (wasn't it just yesterday that Sammie wore this in the Oxford Halloween parade?)

Neighborhood Hayride (Thanks Feagans!)

Grandaddy, dressed as himself, stayed back and passed out the candy at our house.

The kids came back with so much candy for our little street.  They each got to pick five of their favorites and the rest is going to the homeless shelter.  We figure they like to have treats, too!

Favorite Food Combos

So, if I don't write these down now, my own grandchildren will never believe me.  

Grandaddy was raised in the South and has some very strange food tastes, in my opinion.  Of course, he thinks all the salads and wraps and hummus we eat is strange. He loves fried foods, anything barbecued and a big batch of turnip greens to go along side them. Any one food can be written off as quirky or just someone's taste.  But the way he combines some foods -- I mean will NOT eat one without the other -- is well...I'll let you decide:

Oysters and ketchup.

Sardines and peanut butter.

Vinegar and white beans.

Tomato slice over peanut butter bread.

Or, onion slice over peanut butter bread.

But the latest craze is sour pickles (not dill, s-o-u-r pickles) and vanilla wafers.

The worst part is, he can't get the jar open by himself and every single time I open it, I have to use all the strength I have.  I'm gripping it like crazy and every single stinkin' time, I spill half the juice down my shirt, splashing on my arms and onto the floor.

Thank goodness he can get the sardines open on his own.

Derby 135 (Or, First Lessons in Losing)

Last Saturday, we celebrated the Kentucky Derby in our own special way. Much like last year, we each grabbed a hat and tons of snacks and spent a couple hours in Grandaddy's room watching the festivities. For the record, there were no tears this time.

(I love when he dresses himself.)

We divided the 20 horses among the five of us, so we each had pretty good odds. Chase remembered winning last year and I took the prize this year.

After the race, Sammie disappeared, so I went looking for her.  I found her all scrunched up on the couch crying because she didn't win.

Well, well, well, isn't this a good teaching moment?  

Besides the fact that hardly ANYONE wins when gambling is involved, I tried to explain that in life, we'll lose more often than we win. That lots of people will finish before we do. And that most of the time when we win, it's because of many, many hours of hard work and dedication and not because we dropped a dollar in a hat and crossed our fingers. 

And, we can't win at everything.  There's simply not enough time to master everything, so we need to choose carefully the races we're in.  Are they worth winning? Worth training for?  Am I training for a futile competition of whose children are more polite or whose house is cleanest? (Oh, sorry, this is about Sam.)  

Paul wrote it like this to the church in Corinth:

"You've all been to the stadium and seen the athletes race. Everyone runs; one wins. Run to win. All good athletes train hard. They do it for a gold medal that tarnishes and fades. You're after one that's gold eternally." (The Message)

Yes. That's exactly what I meant.  

Did you learn anything new on Derby day?

Teacher Let the Monkeys Out

This is Sammie taking her final Sing, Spell, Read & Write test! I'll let you guess her score.

I can hardly believe it. Sammie is finished with Kindergarten. She had her art show last week and took her final test this week.  We were supposed to have three days left, but she begged to do it all in one day.  She worked really hard and here we are! 

Grandaddy treated us to a celebration at Dairy Queen. (He'll snag any excuse to get ice cream.) We captured a few of the moments, though we wish you could've joined us in person.

So many choices, it was hard for this crew to decide!

Like another red-headed friend of mine, little Ava loves her some DQ!

Sammie was making this face because I "hugged her too tight!"  I'm so proud of her!

Turns out, it was a little chilly for ice cream.  You probably can't tell Chase is shivering, which doesn't seem to hinder the eating part at all.

This is me sucking up to our Principal.  His diplomas are conditional!

Move Over, Rembrandt

Sammie had her art show last week -- the culmination of a years' worth of projects with her homeschool art and literacy co-op. 

I'll show Sammie's favorite first: pottery.  These two pieces are placed on top of their introduction to weaving.

Since we don't have family in town, we were so thankful for friends who stopped by to support Samantha's creativity.  Here she's telling how they did print making. It was my personal favorite.

And an art show is not complete without the still life.

This is Sam's explanation of the piece above: "He had us look at a sculpture and then try to draw it. It was really brown." I hope that's enough so that YOU get it, because I didn't really get it.

Very proud family.

OUCH!

Another sign that Spring is here:  bare feet outdoors.  Since she's constantly telling my children to put their shoes on, my mother would scream, "I told you so!" if she read this story, so I'm hoping she doesn't.

We were all playing on the deck the other day and I heard Chase start yelling, "I need a band-aid! GET A BAND-AAAAAAID!"  It was strange, because there was no cry of pain or screaming or anything, just immediately shrieking for a bandage.  

Can you see this thing?

Wicked, wicked splinter.  

After he realized what it was, of course, and remembering the pain of removing an equally giant-sized one last summer, the bawling began.  I tried only once to pull it out, and being the wuss that I am, I called Brian to come home and get it.  While the sympathetic Mom was taking pictures, Grandaddy came over, grabbed a hold of his foot with one hand and the splinter with the other and with one big yank, out it came.

Of course, Chase was screaming at the trauma and I was laughing internally at the fact that Grandaddy can't grip the coke bottle to get it open, but he did this heroic thing for his great-grandbaby.

Chase sulked in the chair for a long time trying to pull himself together.  Grandaddy kept asking, "You ain't mad at your ol' Grandaddy, are you, boy?"  

He just shook his head no.  I snuck a sucker over to Grandaddy to give to Chase as a peace offering and it was definitely the best medicine.  About ten minutes after, I found Chase on the couch.  Such trauma can sure take it out of you.

I was just getting ready to hit "publish" when Ava started crying from the deck. You guessed it...she needed a band-aid for the splinter.  I really hate it when my mom is right.

Ava's Body Art

Grandaddy and Ava were so proud to show me a new pastime they'd discovered together a few weeks ago.  They had taken turns drawing on eachother's hands in ink.  Grandaddy's drawings were some what recognizeable -- can't read his handwriting, but I made out a man in the moon sketch.  

It's hard to scold a 95-year old, but I did try to tell him that probably wasn't a good idea.  He was apologetic and said he'd never done it if he'd known I had a problem with it.  I tried to tell him she was still trying to learn the rules of using pens, pencils, markers, etc.  I found it hard to articulate without sounding like a mean ol' meanie.

I was able to show him the next day why it wasn't a good idea.