Chapter 4, Part 4
For the next three minutes the only sounds
heard on Grandpa’s forty acres were the clinking of forks and the musty old
ship’s clock in the hall. Finally Dewey stuck his tongue out at Grandpa. The
old veteran returned the gesture. Fern tried to resuscitate the situation. “I
really like the way you’ve decorated here. It’s very festive. Especially the
tree.”
Grandpa muttered. The silence continued.
Ariel thought for a moment about mentioning the love letters and yearbooks
she’d found, but held back. She was not sure how Grandpa would respond and
finally settled for a less controversial subject. “I read in the Unofficial US
Census that there are 94,135,860 homes with real trees in America
Grandpa was not impressed. “Fascinating. Pass
the cranberries.”
“Artificial trees are more popular among the
elderly, less affluent and less educated.”
Grandpa smirked. “Less educated. It figures.
Pass the stuffing.”
Fern looked up. “We’ve always had an
artificial...” Grandpa lowered his head, let his glasses slide down to the end
of his long nose and raised a condescending eyebrow. That one was too easy.
Monty changed the subject. “Say, as long as
we’re all together this might be a good time to talk about what to do with
mother’s memorials.”
This was the last subject Jana wanted to
discuss over Christmas dinner. “Not now, dear.”
Grandpa was surprisingly compliant. “No,
that’s fine. Now’s as good a time as any.”
Dewey objected, stating that he didn’t care
to talk about dead people at Christmas and that he wanted to open presents.
“She’s not just a dead person,” snarled
Grandpa. “She’s Leo and Ariel’s dead grandmother.”
“Could we not talk about ‘dead’ at the
table?” asked Ariel.
“Pass the dead turkey, please,” smiled Leo.
Jana’s hand inched closer to the carving knife.
“What were you thinking about as far as
memorials?” Roy
Monty explained that about four hundred
dollars had come in from friends and family since Thanksgiving. He and Leo had
counted the money in a stack of unopened cards yesterday morning just after
they arrived. Monty didn’t bother to mention that Grandpa had instructed the
boys to burn the cards with the trash so he wouldn’t have to write “thank yous”
to all his cheap friends.
“I thought we might use the money at your
church to help with the carpet fund,” Monty offered, not caring to share his
father-in-law’s suggestion that the money be used to start a fund to remove the
new pastor.
“Your mother-in-law was against the carpet
fund,” said Grandpa.
Jana offered her first choice. “How about the
sanctuary renovation?”
“She
liked the sanctuary just the way it was.”
“How
about the youth fund?” Ariel asked.
“Your
grandmother hated kids.”
Ariel
was insulted. “Did not!”
“Did
too.”
“Did
not!”
The thought popped into Leo’s head that laser
carved walnut Bible verse plaques above the urinals might be a nice memorial
for the church, but he refrained from mentioning the word urinal at the table.
“I got an idea. Why don’t we donate it to flood relief?”
Grandpa smiled at the lad. “Now there’s a
thought. Your grandmother always did like a good disaster.”
“Is that why she married you, Gramps?” Dewey
smiled.
The old man picked up a turkey leg and shook
it at his nemesis. “You’re getting awfully close to the poinsettia pot, boy.”
Roy
“I’m touched by your sudden concern,” feigned
Grandpa. “But I also watch the weather channel. What else are you supposed to
do when all your friends are dead and you don’t like any of your loved ones?”
“All your friends are not dead,” said Jana.
“What about Arnie Wilowicz?”
“Dead.”
“How about your old whist partner, Finster?”
“Folded his hand permanently last February.”
“What about those people you used to bowl
with? The Wombats.”
“Wombats? Dingbats! Besides, they’re a
couple. Who wants to go out with a couple? And they’re moving to Sun City
“Your best buddy, Mergen. He’s not dead,”
said Monty.
“Hardly. Just got married to a twenty-three
year old. Yeah. He’ll be dead soon.”
Dewey asked his mother what grandpa meant by that and was told that he’d understand when he was older.
Traveling non-stop - now that would be a dream profession. Writing, photographing, eat, living... that's the type of traveling I want to pursue, not just facing corporate hotel rooms and eating room service. Wanderlust makes one feel ALIVE, or perhaps more detached because nothing feels like home. I can cure the sensation of a different life in my imagination, in those destinations where every sense of life is different. The sky would look different and the air would feel different on my skin. Encounters are adventures, not just brief shuffles on the street.
Posted by: Louis Vuitton Outlte | August 08, 2011 at 09:26 PM