I'll never have a husband?

How do you mention to your grandfather that he has offended you or hurt you in some fashion? I mean, without possibly hurting the good relationship you have with him? In my situation, I won't. I shall just let it roll off my shoulders and try to remember his "filter" doesn't work at all like most people's.

Last Friday I went with him on a special delivery - putting a rack in a new location and to fill it with our papers. He'd been driving around northeast California for 3 days picking up ad copy, so I offered to go with him on Friday, since I didn't have to work at Job 3. That way someone besides him knew where the new location was. Plus I was really hoping he'd want someone else (like me) to drive since he'd already been on the road for 3 days. Luck, as it were, was not on my side.

We left around 7 a.m. and stopped in Town to get gas. After we got back on the road, he suddenly panicked that he'd forgotten the bank deposits that he was supposed to take care of later that afternoon when we got back. I looked around the floor between the seats and he told me that they should be in his briefcase. In the backseat. I turned out and realized it was just far enough of my reach to make it difficult, so I told him we could check later when we stopped. Instead of agreeing with me, he instead - while driving - to reach back there to retrieve it. And wound up heading for the other lane. I scolded him . . . okay, I kinda yelled . . . "Not while your driving!" So, I reached back to get it, and it flipped off the backseat and twisted my left wrist. From that moment on, I was not in the best of moods.

Oh, and the bank deposits were in there.

Later when we got to our destination, his friend B was there waiting for us. B is kind enough to keep a few bundles of our paper in his garage and redistribute as our locations in that town become empty. We put our rack in the new location and put papers in it. Took all of 5 minutes. So B and Papa D decide to go to a cafe for some coffee. It was there that my mood got worse.

At some point in the conversation, we began to talk about food. B asked me if I like lamb, and I told him no. Well, that got Papa D going on and on about all the foods I don't like. And then said something - basically the gist was this: I will never have a husband because he won't like putting up with a picky eater.

Slap meet face.

I actually wanted to cry.

For starters, it's none of B's damned business how picky of an eater I am. I've eaten in his presence twice and everyone had burgers.

I admit, I am a pretty picky eater. I will say that I've improved a lot in the last 15 years. Trust me. But, unfortunately, I don't see it changing too much in the present. I don't like being a picky eater; it can be relatively embarrassing when others find out just how much I don't like. For many things, I think it's a texture thing, others it's because I just flat-out don't like the flavor or lack there of. But at 31 years of age, my eating habits are not bound to change much more. My grandparents, well my grandfather, has lectured me a couple of times already that I'm doomed to have medical problems later in life. My grandfather had the fucking balls to tell me two days after my Granddad passed about how poorly my Granddad must have eaten to have wound up a diabetic. (Unfortunately, stupid medical professionals never relayed that message to my Granddad). My Granddad wasn't a poor eater - the older he got the more salt he'd put on his food. He deserved some salt after living through being shot and a plane crash that literally killed him, 3 times.

If I hadn't been sitting on the inside of the booth at the cafe, I would have left the table. I think B saw the lightening flash in my eyes and after Papa D beat a dead horse, the topic was discarded. But my foul mood didn't improve.

The funny that did happen was this: on our way out of town, we were stopped at an intersection. A big ass truck was hauling one big ass 5th wheel. Probably a 45 footer. As it's pulling through the intersection -

Papa D: Wow, that's a really big motor home.

Me: *trying not to laugh* Um, that's what we call a 5th wheel.

Papa D: Because it doesn't have a motor in it, right?

Oh dear.

Just another day, hangin' with my grandfather . . .

I was on the road delivering papers with Papa D this afternoon after Job 3. And as usual, hanging out with my grandfather can be interesting. Someone really ought to get me a digital recorder to take on the road with me, because this shit is priceless. Some of the things that he says, you just roll your eyes, while others make your jaw drop, and other times you just shake your head in wonder. As in, if the DMV knew about his memory, would they have just renewed his license?

As we started to deliver in Town, he mentioned at least three times (in the first 30 minutes), that tomorrow (Friday) we'd be delivering to Fall River and Burney, plus 4 other places.

I politely asked, "Aren't I doing those stops this weekend when I deliver?" (meaning the 4 other places)

He replies with an inhaling hiss, and a face that says, 'I don't think so, Tim', and says, "Well . . . I guess you could . . . I just wanted to get them out before all the events this weekend."

We go through this every month. My guess is that because he did the routes his way for so long, he just doesn't remember the changes that were made when I came to Sticksville. Plus, I had no idea what events he was speaking of for this weekend. There isn't anything big going on this weekend in NorCal . . . at least not our section of it. I let it go.

Later, as we were driving over the pass to get home, he mentions this weekend again.

PD: "Well, I just really want to get these delivered before the 4th."

I was a wee bit confused . . . the 4th? Of July? It's nearly August.

Me: "The 4th?? It's nearly August 1st."

He started laughing, "Oh jeez. Well, there's a thing at Eagle Lake. What is it?"

Me: "Eagle Lake? You mean the BBQ?"

PD: "Yeah, when is that?"

Me: "I don't remember. We can check at home."

Back home, we sat at the kitchen table, telling K about our afternoon delivering. Papa D checked a paper on the table and finds the ad for the BBQ at Eagle Lake - it's September 3rd. He pointed to it and told us, "That BBQ is on September 3rd; I really want to get these delivered before this BBQ this weekend."

K and I look at each other, a bit dumbfounded, and she said, "Honey, it's not even August yet!"

He laughed and said, "Oh jeez."

And the DMV just gave him another license.

Photographic or Pornographic?

Old(er) people can be good for a few laughs.

The first time this happened to me I was nearly insulted. By the end of the day, I thought it was fucking hilarious. When it still happens (and yes, it actually has), I just give my grandfather "the look".

Awhile back, as PD and I were delivering papers, a tiny issue arose. He was kind of quizzing me about things he had told me about, like names of mountains or where our next delivery stop was. He praises my memory quite often, because let's face it - mine is 100 times better than his at this point. There are so many times he doesn't remember that he just told me what he's telling me not 5 minutes before. And whenever we're on the road, he says that my memory is wonderful and even a couple times he claims it has saved his life. In reality, it didn't save his life. My memory told him where he had written down someone's name for an article.

Anyway, on this particular delivery day, he starts praising my wonderful memory and then spits out: "It must be nice to have a pornographic memory."

*insert crickets here*

*insert horrified look on my face here*

I couldn't spit a word out. He saw the look on my face and then said, "Photographic? Pornographic? I get those two confused all the time."

All I could do was sputter, "Photographic! Photographic! Photographic!!!"

Now, I'm not saying I do or don't have a pornographic memory. However, that is none of my grandfather's business.

And for a guy who is into photography, you would think that he wouldn't get photograhpic mixed up with pornographic.

But maybe it's just me.

And these are the days of my life . . . .

I really think I need a tape recorder going while driving around with my grandfather. No. Seriously.

So, about two or three weeks ago, one of my friends told me she wanted me to meet someone. Apparently her and another friend had been talking about this for awhile. Our first attempted meet up a couple weeks ago went bust as I when I arrived in town I first found our that one of my grandmother's was in the hospital for heart stuff, and secondly that my wingman was sick. I've been texting the guy off and on for awhile and he seems cool. We're supposed to meet up at a BBQ this Sunday at my friend's place.

Anyways, I had told my grandparents about it, and K was cool with it and wanted to know what I knew, which was basically nil. Name, Age, and job was all I had. Papa D seemed ambivalent.

This morning, while driving to Town to deliver papers, I got the talk. You know, the relationship talk. I was a wee bit taken aback, a wee bit annoyed, and nearly insulted that he felt he should have this discussion with me at the ripe old age of 31. I am no stranger to relationships.

PD: You know, since you've moved up here, I think I've developed fatherly concerns for you.

(Not a big leap since you are my grandfather and all)

PD: I'm a little concerned about your friends setting you up on this date. I think it's a little fast.

Me: What do you mean? (as in, how is meeting a person moving too fast?!)

PD: I'm just concerned about this guy. I never had a relationship with someone that I didn't already know for a long time.

Me: Well, I trust my friends. They wouldn't knowingly set me up with a bad guy. Besides, they just want me to meet the guy. I may never see him again after this.

PD: Oh oh, you do, okay. I'm just saying that I've never had a relationship with someone that I didn't already know for a long time.

(it's no mistake that being mentioned twice. lol)

PD: Well, I'm going to give you some relationship advice . . . (and he goes into this story of how he meet each of his wives, and how long he'd known them before marrying them, or even asking them on a date. meanwhile, I'm rolling my eyes and mouthing "are you fucking kidding me?" thankful that I was alone in the front seat and he was sitting behind me in the back seat).

Me: uh huh . . . yeah . . . mmhmmm . . . (all during his story so he knew I was listening)

PD: . . . . But I am concerned partly because I know what guys want. (and he starts chuckling)

Me: (speechless for a moment) Um, I know what guys want, too. Men really aren't that hard to figure out.

PD: I kinda feel like I'm having a conversation with my 14 year old daughter. I thought maybe I shouldn't say anything because you aren't 14, you're 31.

(yeah, I'm thinking you shouldn't have really said anything)

I eventually put it out of my head until I was finally home alone after delivering papers. I can sort of see that he may not necessarily trust my friends because he doesn't know them. Perhaps because one of them is a bartender. Who knows. But doesn't he trust me?

I know he worries about me, and has concerns about me meeting strangers. Apparently he forgot all about my attempts with internet dating in the big city, which was kind of a crock. And besides, he fucking embarrassed the shit out of me about a month or so ago trying to set me up with a guy. (That was a post I was forced to delete on my other blog, so I will re-post the story over here another day). So what is the big difference in him doing it versus my friends?

I know he was trying to look out for me, so I wasn't mad. Annoyed? A little. I know he will always worry about me, like my parents do. However, I am a big girl, I know what men want, and trust me . . . they don't get it easily from me. (insert evil laugh here)

Things Papa D Says . . .

Sometimes I wonder about the things Papa D says to me while driving. Parts of the country that we drive around I grew up in as a little girl, so I know where things are.  Certain restaurants, hotels, stores, etc. I also know the mountain passes, such as Eskimo Hill, which is very popular for sledders in winter. It's also popular for winter car wrecks.

The town I grew up in is Old Station, just a couple hundred people live there year-round. You blink you miss it, but it's where I grew up. There is one tiny general store in town, Rim Rock Ranch, where I used to get ice cream with my babysitters in summer.

I tell you all of this so you understand my shock when I tell you what Papa D said and/or asked. I think in his old age, that he forgets where I grew up.

One day, as were driving into Old Station to drop some papers off at Rim Rock Ranch, he says, "Now, there's a tiny little general store here in town, Rim Rock Ranch -" I stopped him by simply saying, "Oh I remember it - I used to get ice cream there in summer." His response? "Oh, you know it?" I find it a little humorous and sad that he doesn't remember that I lived there, especially seeing as how he got my parents to buy one of the restaurants in town and that's why we moved there.

During that same drive, as we're driving up Eskimo Hill - nearing the summit actually, he asks, "Do you know where Eskimo Hill is?" I nearly burst out laughing, but instead pointed out the window and said, "We're on it." He then says, "Oh oh, you know, then." Yes, I know, I grew up driving this road. When I texted this conversation to my mom she couldn't stop laughing for the rest of the day.

Just silly things. I know he's gotten more forgetful over the years, and tells the same stories several times. Par for the course of getting older.

A day of driving with Papa D

My grandfather, Papa D, is not the world's best driver. He's probably not the worst, either, but he's still no picnic. He's in his early 70s and has one eye. And he gets distracted kind of easily. Okay, really easily.

Case in point - just last week, he nearly ran the van into a ditch. Granted it was a tiny ditch that we could have gotten out of, but that's really besides the point.

Last week was our week to run around for four days across Northern California to pick up ad copy from our advertisers. One would think in the 21st Century that everything would be done electronically. Nope. Not in this household. Papa D runs out and talks to a good 1/2 of our advertisers on a monthly basis regarding their ads. Then he'll spend forever chatting with each one of them (but that's a post for another day).

Last Wednesday, on our way to one of the many small towns up here, he needed to pull off to use the bathroom. There's a little glorified port-a-potty provided by the Forest Service at one point and he's frequented it before. He gets back in the van to show me a picture of the bathroom as it was apparently a disaster. I guess he thought I gave a shit what the inside of the bathroom looked like. They're never pretty.

As per his usual, he puts the van in motion on a tiny dirt road and then puts on his seat belt, which pisses me off that he waits until he's driving. Then, he starts looking around for the bottle of antibacterial wipes that was rolling around on the floorboards. I look up from my phone and we're half way in a fucking ditch. I shouted "STOP!" He promptly swerved the van back onto the dirt road, and as the van is swerving all over this road, he tells me, "I'm just looking for the wipes, this one is empty".

The "empty" one wasn't empty - it was new, and the wipes hadn't been pushed through the opening yet. I was rather pissed and annoyed when I finally blurted out, "Just stop and I will get them for you!" The van lurched to a stop and I opened the new container of wipes.

I know he'll never remember to put his seat belt on before he puts the van in motion. But you would think that when he has a person in the passenger seat, that he might ask them to get something for him instead of doing it himself while driving. Common sense, right? It kinda makes me wonder how he never wrecked all those years driving alone.

I survived the rest of the day, although I was a wee bit tense and wound up with a headache. Thank God for Excedrin.