I love my Grandparents.
No. You don't understand. I love my Grandparents. A whole heck of a lot. They are truly two of the most fascinating people I've ever known. (You can read more about their epic, and I do mean epic, love story here.) And I'm not just saying that they're the most awesome of awesome because they're sweet old people that I love. If you met them, they would quickly go on your short list of most fascinating people too. Ran away from home and jumped a freight train cross country at age fourteen? Done it. Won beauty pageants? Done it. Stomped grapes with Portuguese immigrants? Old hat. Drove cattle with world famous cowboys? Eh, Grampa taught that Jim Shoulders kid how to tie a square knot. (Well, okay. Grampa taught me how to tie a square knot. But he and Jim Shoulders were good buddies.)
Last week when Harry and I were in Colorado, we celebrated my Grandpa's eighty-eighth birthday. We ordered take out (because Harry is no fun to take to restaurants. Boy howdy.) and all piled around two tables to eat off of styrofoam containers. Somehow Grampa ended up paying for every one's dinner for his own party... Not quite sure how that worked out, but I'm not surprised. Two tables... My cousin Lori and I are grown women, thank you very much. And we both ended up at the kids table. (If you feel so inclined, you can read about Lori and our epic, oh yes I mean epic, cousin story here.) We'll always be "the girls" to them. No matter how many little boys we birth. But that's okay. I don't think either of us really mind.
Rock on, Grampa. You're the cat's pajamas.
Sigh... I love these crazy kids.
1 comment:
This made me want to jump in the car and drive over to see my grandma. :) Beautiful post!
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