Grandpa

My Grandpa was a great man.  Standing tall at 6'3", he always had a smile on his face and a joke in his pocket.  Filled with sarcasm and wit, bravery and love, my Grandpa was one of the sweetest and most genuine men I have ever had the pleasure of knowing.  This past Thursday, January 17th, he had a sudden stroke and passed away - without suffering, quickly and painlessly.  He was surround by friends and my Bubbe, his adoring wife of 68 years, ending a life-long companionship.

My Grandpa always lived far away from me, so we weren't as close as we may have been otherwise - though that never stunted the love and adoration I always had for him.  I distinctly remember him taking me to Sea World down in Florida when I was a kid, and making funny voices for the dolphins as they swam by - a perfect window into his humor and sweet personality.  He was loving and warm, always fun to be around, kind and giving, and for some reason, always seemed to have an endless supply of root beer and grape soda on his outside patio.  I was terrible at keeping up with calling him, and he always gave me well-deserved grief for it.  He simply wanted to be in touch, hear my voice, and know about me, and my life.  I will always regret that I didn't call enough; That I never got to hear his voice before he passed, or that he got to hear mine.  However, I can rest easy knowing that he never suffered, and I am thankful that I will always remember him as a strong, healthy, and smiling person - because that is how he would have liked to be remembered.  If nothing else, this can remind us all that we truly only get one life, and that every moment, and every person, is special - especially those who mean the most.

I will always carry my Grandpa with me.  I will find him popping up in my sarcasm and wit, my appreciation for music, my ability to keep any rhythm, and my slightly curved nose that is, no doubt, from him.  I will hold nothing but wonderful memories and a heart full of love.  Though I may not have gotten his height, I certainly got his heart.  Thank you, Grandpa.  I will always and forever love you just as you were.

Just this past weekend, I learned the story of how they had met - a story I had never heard before.  The amount of joy it has brought to my family is just so beautiful that I had to share it with whoever would listen.  

In 1943, Al (my grandfather) was stationed at an air force base in Nebraska.  His cousin, Mary, was in New Jersey at the time, and asked her friend, Selma (my grandmother), if she would write him a simple note to keep his spirits up during the war.  A letter was written, as she felt it was the least she could do to support the war effort, and sent out to Nebraska.  Al responded, and soon after, letters were flying between them across the country - a romance had begun.  Sentiments, emotions, and pictures were exchanged, but Al could no longer contain his feelings in simple correspondence.  On a small scrap of paper, a song was composed - lyrics and notes, music and love, all from the deepest part of his heart were placed on this tiny piece of paper, forever dictating the rest of their relationship.  In July, 1944, with a fortunate two-week furlough, he is in New Jersey - with Selma there, waiting for him.  Four months later, Al and Selma were married.

When the war ended in 1946, Al was handed his discharge papers and packed up his belongings.  His uniforms and papers were packed up in a box and sent back to his family in Chicago, but the little scrap containing his song was no where to be found.  He paid it little mind, as the lyrics and melody were forever with him.  He moved to New Jersey to be with Selma, and his box of belongings soon followed.  When the two moved down to Florida, the dusty box of papers made it's way along with them, and again when they moved back to Chicago.  In December, Al decided to begin cleaning out excess clutter, and stumbled upon the box that traveled along side him for so long.  When looking through it, he discovered a small scrap of paper at the bottom - the music and lyrics to the song he wrote for Selma 68 years prior.  Shortly after, at a holiday concert where they lived, Al sang the song to Selma one last time.  You can watch the video here.  In the meantime, the lyrics are below.

"You are my dream, 

A vision out of the blue

A lovely song coming true,

A morning flower, in spring.

You are my dream

A picture here by my side,

No cloak of darkness can hide,

You're heaven sent to me.

A silhouette, 

An angel drifting down from above,

I reach to you, my guiding light, to love,

Someday we'll meet.

I'll hold you close to my heart,

Because I've known from the start

How lovely you seem,

You are my dream."

-Albert Goldman, 

What Do You See?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

If you said two whales kissing, we're best buds forever.

They All Sort Of Start The Same

 

I was extremely fortunate to spend New Years Eve with some of my favorite people, in one of my favorite places, with one of my favorite families (aside from my own), even though the fact remains:

I very much dislike New Years.

I can't  put an exact reason to why New Years and I have a rocky relationship, but we've never really gotten along.  I believe it started when I was two (so this goes way back).  My parents threw a New Years Eve party, and had small glasses of sweet champagne on various tables.  Supposedly, I was able to get my tiny hands on one and drank it.  There is actual video of me walking down the hallway later that evening, swaying back and forth and falling down.  Two years old and drunk?  Not a good start, New Years.

In middle school and high school, I remember my mom would let me have friends come sleep over.  She would buy french onion dip and chips, ice cream and toppings for sundaes, sparkling cider, and those little popper-things that smell like burning when you shoot them off.  Those nights were always fun, but I always ended up staying up too late and ending up sick for when we went back to school.  NYE: 2, Hilary: 0.

College always proved interesting, as I would generally want to spend New Years with my boyfriend of the time.  We sort of ended up alternating which friends we would spent it with - one year mine,  the next years his - and they were always so anti-climactic.  I think that's where it all comes from - we have this build up and picturesque idea of what New Years should be like; These crazy expectations of some insane party, booze flying through the air, hot dudes serving drinks and making out with you on the bar, when in reality?  New Years is, statistically, one of the most depressing and over-hyped holidays of the year.

I swear I'm not a Debbie Downer come New Years time.  I go into it every year with an upbeat, positive disposition and attitude.  I always try to make some sort of fun plans that aren't too insane, but involve me doing something great with great people.  Yet, every year, without fail, I end up waking up the next morning totally bummed out.  Not refreshed or recharged, but exhausted and hung over, and sometimes a little sad - none of which is, to me, the right way to start a fresh, new year.

Next year, I think I'll try and get some friends together and do the midnight 5k run in Central Park.  Now that's a way to start a year - who's with me?

Since that was sort of a bummer post, I will leave you with a picture of my cat smoking a cigarette: