I pray when it's convenient

How hypocritical is that? Desperate times make for shameless hope and pleading. I've pretty much resigned myself to being agnostic. But when life gets ugly in the worst way (Grandpa's stroke, lump in Mom's breast, Grandma's ovary cyst discovery), I start asking for help right quick. I pray, and I mean it. It usually goes something like this.

Look. I don't know if you're out there or not. For all our sakes, I hope you are. I need this. I don't care if I deserve it. The person I'm coming to you about certainly does. Please, please, please keep her happy, out of pain, aware of how much we all love her, and give us more time with her. I know I can't keep her here forever, but I'M NOT READY TO LET GO. Please. Please.

There are usually a bunch of intense pleases after that, and sometimes some what-iffing, but I do my best to nip that in the bud.

Well I got lucky again! Or was heard! Or something! Grandma had laproscopic (sp?) surgery. They removed an ovary and some other junk and tested it. It was "going downhill," but hadn't become cancerous. The surgery was outpatient, and she's back home taking care of Grandpa.

God bless modern medicine. I'll hold on to that woman for as long as they'll let me.

Grandparent memories!

Let's flash back to Christmas time, shall we? Picture it. Pekin, Illinois, 2009. My grandparents are celebrating their 65th wedding anniversary. No, that's not a typo. We surprised them and put up decorations the night before, after they'd gone to bed.

So we're sitting around the table, and Dad's talking about Grandpa working too hard around the house. Let's hear it from them, kay?

Dad: So I went to check on Pop, and he was on all fours. He couldn't get up! Wait, let me rephrase. He couldn't stand up. [inappropriate]

Grampa: *chuckling* No, you were right the first time - hah!

Everyone over 50 proceeds to crack up, while I put my head down on the table in feigned embarrassment. But come on, who expects to hear that from the folks over 80? Joyce told me it's his way of coping with the inevitable changes of aging. Why not mock it yourself, have a good laugh at life? FanTAStic attitude. I'm just not there yet. Still, I kinda want to remember this forever.

Next glorious story, and my favorite:

Nic spent a day and night at Grandma and Grandpa's without any of the rest of us there. He was messing on the computer while they were in the family room watching the Lawrence Welk show on PBS. They love that show. Nic passed by the room and noticed that neither were in their chairs. That was curious, and maybe a bad sign, so he entered the room cautiously. Lo and behold, Grampa heard a song he liked, so asked Gramma to dance, and they were jitterbugging around the living room! Nic watched for a few moments, then went to get his camera. He managed to snap 3 shots before they even noticed he was there!

Can you imagine being so happy and spontaneous after SIXTY-FIVE years of marriage, six kids, a miscarriage, some strokes, and generally working your ass of for most of your life, that you would be ballroom dancing around your living room, so taken with the fun of it that you don't even notice when someone else is there? I tear up now just thinking about it, them, how wonderful they are, how lucky they are, how crazy, honest, carpe diem-y, silly, bizarre, and lovable they are.

GUSH.

Ruh Roh

It's my year of weddings. Six. Even though it's a little stressful, I'm looking forward to so many fancy parties with so many people I love. I get to be in two of them, and I already have the dresses. Got the second one this month. Tried it on tonight.

It doesn't fit.

Now, when I say it doesn't fit, I mean it doesn't zip up because I'M TOO BIG. ACK!!!!! And it's not even a fatty part of my body! It's around my rib cage under my chest. Holy moly shitballs, I don't know what to do! I'm going to go to the dress shop tomorrow and do a little panicking, see if they can take it out at all. Holy holy holy mackerel. I mean really. So the plan is to basically drink water, eat lettuce and chicken and veggies, and exercise for the next month. And pray.

Speaking of holy mackerel, there's a restaurant near my new office that is called Holy Mackerel. I love it. Not the restaurant. Fish are gross. But what a great name, right?

More fun to come.