Happy Wednesday! I have survived the first two days back to school. I nearly talked myself to death. On vacation you get used to NOT talking, and so on Monday and Tuesday I sounded like an asthmatic, chain-smoking ninety year old with emphysema. I guess instead I should’ve taught via interpretive ribbon dance. Again.

Very sad this week about the death of Jett Travolta. I had a big crush on Johnnie boy in the eighties after seeing Grease. I thought if he and I got married we would drag race, hand jive, and wear black leather every day together. No matter what the family reveals, that child obviously had some special needs and his family must be devastated. And poor Bahamas. They’d just gotten Entertainment Tonight and Anna Nicole Smith’s boyfriends out of their yard. Now this. If they feel like tourism is going to take a hit, I’d be happy to visit.

Thanks to all of you who gave me advice on video cameras. Apparently this is a transition time for camera technology and it’s not going so hot. Thanks also to Natalie for showing me that there are people who make worse videos than me. Take Crazy Bruce for example.

Brio magazine has hit the shelves with the January issue. I got the chance to write another short story for them, and I LOVE the accompanying pictures.  I can’t post them, so you’re gonna have to check it out yourself, but I’ll say this: Grandpa. Disco ball.

This short story is about a subject near and dear to my heart–hanging out with grandparents. I thought I’d include a sneak peek. But to read the rest. . .go to your Christian book store and pick up a copy of Brio‘s January issue.

THAT OLD FEELING

My grandpa’s house smells like green beans and dust bunnies. Pops’ idea of a good time is a super-sized glass of Metamucil and watching the evening news. Seeing how I’m sixteen, my sense of fun never matches up to his.

“Parker, do you have the list of things you’re to monitor?” Mom asks as I check my bags at O’Hare airport.

“Make sure he’s taking his medicine, his naps, and his prune juice.” I release a deep breath, and my bangs flutter off my forehead. “This is going to be so boring, Mom.”

As soon as my mother pulls away from the airport, she’s headed to Madison, Wisconsin, to stay a week with my older sister and her new baby. My mom thought it would be a great opportunity for me to spend some time with Pops. She says he just hasn’t been the same since Grams died five years ago, and she worries about him. And to hear her tell it, the poor guy must be suffering something awful all alone.

Mom tugs on my ponytail. “Honey, we talked about this. Your sister needs my help. And Pops needs your help.” She pats her heart. “I can just feel it.”

Mom gets these feelings and there is no arguing with her. She says it’s the Lord, but I wonder. Like the time Mom felt “led” to buy that minivan instead of the nice sedan the rest of the family wanted. Or how she was “convicted” that I was to take gymnastics in the third grade, and all I got out of it was a broken wrist and a fear of cartwheels.

“Parker, I know in my heart that Pops needs some family time, and I can’t make it out ’til next month. He’s so lonely. Now, you have your list of things to do to entertain him?”

I try not to grit my teeth. “Crossword puzzles, reading sonnets, and short strolls around the block.” I’m about to pass out with excitement already.

An hour later, I sit on a plane bound for Hazel, Connecticut, and I think about what the next week holds. It’s not that I don’t like my grandpa. Of course I do. But we’re so different. Grams was always my buddy. But Pops? He was just kind of there. In the background.

When noon hits, I step off the plane and head to the baggage claim.

I hear him before I see him.

Surrounded by three older ladies, Pops has his white head thrown back laughing. “You don’t say? I never would’ve thought to add that to a pecan pie. I will sure enough try that.” A gray headed woman pats him on his plaid-covered arm and giggles.

I frown at the odd sight. Pops has never been one for mingling. Or conversation.

He spies me coming toward him, and clears his throat loudly. “Parker! There’s my girl!” He launches toward me, favoring that right leg. He’s had a limp since World War II when he got caught by some guns or bombs. Or something.

He pulls me into a loose hug. A woody scent assaults my nose, and I pull back. “Have you been smoking your pipe?” This is on Mom’s forbidden list.

His busy brows snap together. “Of course not!” His face softens, and his voice lowers. “Well, just on special occasions. We won’t worry your mother with that though.”

I lead him to my bag, and he heaves it up with one hand. “My goodness. I think the last war tank I was on weighed less than this.”

Muttering an apology, I try to wrench it away, but he only swats my hand and smiles.

Hazel, Connecticut is a tiny town filled with large personalities. Everyone knows everyone. There isn’t a Wal-Mart or Target in sight. No McDonald’s. Just Mabel’s Fine Clothing, Duffy’s Diner, and Smith’s Home and Hardware. The local vet will patch up your horse, and if he’s not in too big a hurry, check out that tickle in your throat as well. It’s a world away from my home in Chicago.

By the second night, I’m bored out of my head. I’ve baked sugar-free cookies. I’ve cleaned the house from top to bottom and back again. I’ve pulled weeds from the yard.

When my cell phone rings after dinner, I get up from my chair and step out onto the back porch.

“How’s it going, honey?”

“Oh, it’s fabulous, Mom. A thrill a minute.”

“Is Pops taking it easy?” she asks.

“If he were taking it any easier, he’d be in a coma.” I think I’m halfway there myself. “I’m so bored.”

“You’re dong a wonderful thing. I know he appreciates your company.”

“I’m about to go out of my head. All we do is sit. And discuss the weather. I’ve run out of things to talk about, and if I play Scrabble one more time, I’m going to hurt someone.”

“You’re letting him win, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am!” That was item number seventeen on her list of rules.

A baby cries in the background. “I better go, Parker. But hang in there.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re not suffering an overdose of dullness.”

We say our goodbyes, and I decide to head back inside. Turning around, I drop the the phone. “Pops.”

He stands there, holding two mugs. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you. I thought you could use some hot chocolate.” His face is tense. “I’ll just leave yours here.” He sets a red mug down on the ledge and heads for the door.

“Wait–”

And that’s all for now! Catch the second half of the story in Brio, where you can find out how much Parker truly doesn’t know her own grandpa and how he resolves to make the rest of her time with him loads of fun. Pops is quite the fireball. . .that ‘ol whippersnapper.

Okay, I have a cat passed out on my typing hands, so I need to fling him somewhere else and get back to writing books. Have a great rest of the week!

JEN

P.S. If you liked this post, you might also like:

Poison Ivy is Not My Friend We interrupt this blog to tell you that I had a little tango with poison ivy and a biting mystery bug....

Wednesday already? Okay, I have no post. Nothing prepared to discuss at all. Because my work week started on a Tuesday,...

Already it’s Wednesday?? Don't you LOVE four day work weeks? I mean the only thing better is a three day work week. And you know...

5 comments