I'm Definitely a Fire Sign

It's a typical day-off morning for me- waking up to the sound of Grandpa's shuffle to the bathroom about 8:30. I get up and make my morning coffee; saving just enough for Grandma to have a half cup (she likes my fresh coffee over the instant she typically drinks, just needs it cut with water).  Grab the morning paper and sit down in the recliner with the view of the snow covered hills, and just as I'm reaching for that sacred first sip when Grandpa says, "Grandma pooped last night!" How do you respond to that? 

Everyday gets a little bit weirder and yet somehow furthers my endearment for my strange and simple Grandparents. Grandpa continues to spend his time running between his duties at Good Samaritan Village (for those who don't know, my Gramps is a retired Minister who continues to serve in the capacity of Chaplain/Devotions Leader/Juice Pourer/Corny Joke Teller for the elderly at this Lutheran affiliated care facility) and responding to Grandma's every whimper and cry (which she does a lot these days). Although I'm sure that Grandma's failing health has made things more extreme for Grandpa- it's a small window into all that he does and has done for Grandma. He's not your typical 78-year old male. He cooks, cleans, and keeps the fire stoked all day and all night. Grandma will help with dishes and though she doesn't actually go down the stairs to do any laundry, she LOVES to ask me if I need anything washed. My daily life is largely a mantra that sounds something like, "Grandma, I'm 27 years old."

The funnier part of all of this, is that I AM 27 years old and living with my Grandparents!? I have definitely wondered at times what the hell I am doing here. Grandpa is still quite capable and is used to being in charge and responsible for Grandma's care. Grandma is still more capable than she is willing to believe, but is used to relying on her "Hubby" for pretty much everything. So where does that leave me? Well, I figure that twice a week (on my days off from selling shoes) I can cook the dinner meal. I can be an added presence in the house. Grandpa enjoys having someone he can unload his frustrations and observations on (not to mention watch football and basketball games with- without feeling too terrible guilty). Grandma LOVES having me around. She says this most everyday, and although it made me feel like she still thinks I'm still in diapers at first, I know she means it (and compared to her, I may as well be in diapers). We have dinner together most everyday that it works with my work schedule. When Grandma is feeling up to it, we get in a rowdy game of scrabble. Apparently she hasn't lost control of her scrabble playing skills, as she dominated both Gramps and myself last go around.

She even gloated a bit, saying, "I didn't even really think about what I was doing". I don't think Grams realizes how true that statement is. I actually think it might be her life's motto.

OK, back to my title for this post. So I'm getting ready to leave for the day to come to my little sanctuary: One World Cafe. Being the considerate grandson I am, I go grab an extra large piece of wood to put on the fire while I'm away (Grampa is at Good Sam- so he can't obsessively monitor the fire and Grams only gets up to make herself microwaveable bacon or to pee). I obey all of the rules of the fire place: open the flugh, close the airflow, spread the coals, and place the log on the red hot and ready coals. Well, in my infinite capacity for small details, I have neglected to notice that this log has a notch that will prevent it from entering into the fireplace. But now I've got it halfway in and, in classic Ike fashion, I am jamming and pushing it with the poker...to no avail. I can close the door to the fireplace just enough to prevent the flames from leaping out to start what Grandma is certain will be the inferno that finally does her in. She starts screaming. I push harder. She screams louder. I start slamming the door. Her screaming turns to weeping and hysterical tears. Being the embodiment of all calm and peace I scream, "Grandma just shut up already! It's going to just fine! I dealt with fires all year last year in Montana!" This naturally provides instance placation for Grams. I think to myself, "I should write a bood I'm so good!" Yeah right. So she continues to escalate her dramatic cries and continues to ask if I think we should call 911. To which I scream, "Grandma, stop acting like a 4 year old." To my surprise, this actually works and she clams up. 

Finally, after 5 minutes of this melodrama, I am able to get the entire log completely into the fireplace- with latch firmly closed. I consider driving down to the local tavern for a beer- after all it is 11 am and I have already had to deal with listening to the Bowel Movement Report delivered by Grandpa and some sort of bizarre, soap-opera like moment with my Grandma. But, I realize that this response would not be a whole lot more mature than what I've just witnessed. So I just say I'm sorry and sit next to Granny and hold her hand. We both look at each other and laugh out loud. She says,"I hope no one was recording that!" And you all should know that I have informed her of my writings here- so I do have some level of informed consent (but I can't help but chuckle that she should say that on the very day I start this blog). Perfect.

Anyhow, I realize more and more where my fiery, stubborn nature comes from. Yes, some comes from my Dad's side. Yes, some is my own unique personality for which I am ultimately responsible. And yes, I now know that some comes from my hilarious Grandmother whose flair for the melodramatic, willingness to fight over small things like the size of logs on a fire place (or in my case, for those who know of the story, the maneuverability of hanggliders vs. parachutes), as well as the ability to simply laugh off harsh words and immature actions without so much as blinking. For all of these things, I have my Grandmother to thank.

So to all of you who are willing enough to read my ramblings I thank you. I have also realized in the context of being socially isolated how absolutely blessed I am by all the amazing people I have met in my life. My bizarre, beautiful, loving family is my foundation. My diverse, talented, and caring friends give me the faith necessary to spread my wings and fly just a little higher than I might dare by myself. Indeed, this may be the greatest gift I am given by this time here in Moscow- a deep, daily appreciation for the miracle and gift of life. 

I wish all of you a happy new year. I wish all of you joy, peace of mind, and a reminder to laugh at the stupid things we all do!

Ike