hope to see ya again, Pops....
.....checking emails in the airport.....& just got a call that my grandfather past away. He did a lot for me growing up......Not much I can do for him now but say goodbye...so here's a little one...gotta run & catch my fligh :(
(copied & re-posted from Aspect Journal from the last time I saw him over the holidays...):( :( )
"Lessons in Memory"
I.
It’s usually a change in the weather that does it, and now as I drive to Kirkwood, I can’t help but notice that the snow banks along the roadside are now higher than my car. The all-day all-night drive-in-theatre that broadcasts just south of my cerebellum has switched formats. Now it’s Greatest Hits from the ‘80’s: a looped 16mm film of driving through white walled switchbacks in the Poconos of Pennsylvania.
II.
Home for the holidays and visiting with my grandfather. Haven’t seen him in nearly 3 years and as the glow from the coal stove gently heats the room I can’t help but wonder when I’ll be back…if I’ll be back. His old house creaks and moans against the wind.
He asks about California and then the stories begin. His time on Treasure Island with the Navy. Sneaking into the Rose Bowl down in Pasadena. The old times with the old gang in the older parts of San Francisco. These stories are smudged, fingered, and worn at the edges from constant caress, but I still listen intently and hang onto every word and enunciation. It’s been awhile since I’ve heard them.
III.
Getting out of the car, cold wind slaps me across the face and makes no apology. Definitely colder and snowier than when I left. My boots creak and moan against the cold snow and the theatre projectionist changes film. Pennsylvania Powder, or maybe more appropriately titled Skiing the Same Run Over and Over in Zero Degree Temps Under Snow Guns Blowing at Full Tilt in Your Face, splashes across the screen at the rear of my skull.
IV.
“Do you do much skiing out in California?”, he asks.
“Oh just a bit.”
“Probably a little different than back here huh? Remember that big blizzard in ’93? The snow banks along the roads were higher than the cars!”
V.
Last run of the day. Me and the crew sneak OB to catch some deep freshies above the parking lot. Skirting and hanging onto the side of a gully, I continually get low on the uphill turn and dip my hip into the powder for face shot after freezing face shot. This is why I’m here.
I’m finishing up and editing my latest film. Another one in the can.
VI.
I back my car out of the field behind his house careful not to scrape against the snow banks. He wandered out onto the back porch to see me off as he always did before. I shift out of reverse and into drive. Pause.
Hit record.
I glance over my shoulder one last time at the weathered house and the silhouetted, weathered man leaning against its frame. He raises a hand in farewell and I do the same as I’ve always done before. Although this time my hand is much heavier. It holds the weight of every other wave I’ve sent him in the past. I don’t think I’ll be going through this motion ever again.
Hit stop.
I will see him again.
VII.
I navigate my car through the snow banks on the drive back home and it’s the matinee at the all-day all-night drive-in theatre. They’re showing OB Face Shots together with Stories of a Seaman: Tales from a Navy Midshipman.
Only the projectionist seems to have taken the day off (it was a powder day after all) for they’re spliced together.
And they play in concert. A fond symphony.
g-pa shoe
1914 - 2005.
