The bad

The bad was that my grandfather passed away two weekends ago.  I found out while at Steph's apartment (she who doth ride Gene) collecting ourselves before heading to the Rehobeth Beach outlets to find some short sleeve shirts for work since mine were all too big.  Rick called my cell, and I put it on speaker because, why not, he and Stephanie are co-workers.

"Your mother called...."

For the past couple of years, I've always heard this and gave a momentary cringe, expecting the next words to be that my grandfather died.  In fact, every time I've answered the phone when my mother called, I'd always cringe while I waited for her first words.

"... your grandfather died."

I was oddly... detached.  So, the trip to get clothes from work turned into a trip to find clothes suitable for a funeral and a burial, since they would be held on different days.  The funeral would be in York, the burial would be in Philadelphia.

When I got to the outlet, I was approached by a sales person asking what I was looking for.

"A black dress"

"What size?"

"I don't know."

"What styles look good on you?"

"I don't know....."

Yeah.  I wasn't planning to get anything other than jeans, t shirts, and a couple of things for work until I hit my magic goal number, so I was entirely unprepared.  It was the first very surreal experience in a cascade of strangeness.  They kept oohing and aaahing over how I looked in the clothes (well, I HAD to explain why my size was a mystery) and all I could think about was... ummmm... yay?  They knew why I was buying them, too.

Oh well, a commission is a commission, I suppose.

I had the day before the funeral off, and asked my mother (she and my aunt, her sister, were taking care of most everything) what I could do.  She invited the artist in me to come out and make the memorial board for my grandfather to display at the funeral and burial.  It turned into a cathartic experience as I pored over 7 trays of slides at her house, looking for just the perfect ones, then getting the slide scanner working so that I could print them out for the board.  The picture that I put between the years kept cracking me up.  I couldn't look at it!  I asked my mother if it was disrespectful, but she said that anyone who knew him would know that was how he was and is very appropriate.

I really don't want to talk about anything more than that, but I felt like I had to write something.

"Cheese and crackers!"