A Peachy Life
Dear Diary,
I am sitting here with my granny Marnie (electric scooter girl) in her apartment over at KillJoy Senior Living: if it’s not already done—we’ll do it to you.. reflecting on the amazingly full life of Papa G. who passed away yesterday. Before I get into the details of our conversation..I need to give you an idea of this mans greatness. Just writing this part chokes me up to the point that I may need to borrow one of those used snotty tissues Marnie is now pulling out of her bra to blow her nose. While watching her do this is a little unsettling—I have promised myself that just for TODAY I will totally hold my tongue and say N-O-T-H-I-N-G.
Papa G. was a man that all women adored and the men.. well, they just promised their wives they would try “really really hard” to be just like him. Possessing qualities that were incredibly rare for his gender.. an impeccably maintained meticulous closet, organizational skills were “other worldly” and the uncanny ability to marry a bold knit pullover with a Brooks Brothers washed oxford candy stripe sport shirt, a basic tan slack and finish with Ferragamo’s Laguna loafer.. for a look that rocked the house. Every old dude over EIGHTY was sporting the same look within days. I wouldn’t of even THOUGHT to pick up the teal in the cable knit and pare it with pink. But Papa G… he wasn’t afraid to make statements. No sir. Poly blend was for sissies.. he was a cashmere man through and through.
“Marnie..how about a little fresh fruit to perk you up?” I yell. My head’s stuck inside the dark depths of the refrigerator searching for something of nutritional value that will also help granny with some..uh hum.. regularity issues. I had made a nice cooked fruit dish earlier..added all kinds of high fiber goodies. Marnie inhaled it. In hind sight I should have put one bag less of pitted prunes in there and added a..WARNING label. Ga. Almost killed us all off. I pull out a heaping container of cut up peaches from the back and generously scoop them into two bowls for Marnie and I. We dig in and resume our chat about the kind of husband Papa G. was.
“Do you know that in all the years we were married..we never ONCE had an argument?”
Being that I’m not stuppppid. I will not do anything but agree with this comment. Even though..HOLY COW..I could tell you about some “discussions” in which Marnies reckless electric scooter driving habits caused plaster to fall from the walls in chunks and Papa G. to usher some sweet words of reassurance:
“MARNIE..geez-uz. What the HALLLE are you trying to do? Demolish the house? Can’t you steer that thing without taking out a door? How hard can THAT be?”
I’m beginning to think that the same memory loss mechanic that naturally occurs after labor..also happens after a death. We forget all the pain that we’ve endured and just remember the joy. All of the wonderful trips to far away lands like.. Alaska and.. Cincinnati. The amazing parties, the delish food..
I’m shoving the peaches into my mouth..like a woman who hasn’t eaten in..at least the last couple of hours. Can I help it that food during stressful times needs to be given in a steady stream to avoid catastrophic incident. Marnie also is enjoying seconds on the peaches. They were positively addictive and with each bite we felt a little bit more joyous..the grief was actually being lifted off of our shoulders by the MAGIC peaches. We continue talking on and on. I am POSITIVE that the first thing Papa G. will do upon his arrival and check-in at the pearly gates.. is first pick up his wings.. then head out to 7th Heaven Golf and Country club and set up a rematch with Grandpa Max. Papa G. will kick his HALO to the curb. No. Doubt.
Marnie and I are getting a teensy tiny bit giggly. More PEACHES Marnie. Burp. Tee hee hee. Burp.
“Where did these come from anyway? They’re like so (hiccup) AMAZING.”
MARNIE: Ohhhhhh. Did you find these in a BOWL in the back?
ME: Yessssssss.
MARNIE: Lara brought those over. They’re called Vodka peaches. (pause) I can’t remember WHAT she put in them..
Marnie and I are feeling only a little pain at the moment and lots of bliss. We are celebrating ninety-six years of a life well lived. We’re going to miss the old guy. Because G. rarely took a day off from work.. he really does deserve a break and a few holes of heavenly golf after a life so packed and juicy sweet. Dear papa G.—
P.I.P…
Hiccup
ummm. R.I.P
A
