of mustache wax and NO SALT...

I recently found an old book that my grandfather gave me years ago. In its front cover is an inscription that states that my grandfather was reading this book, in the hospital on the day I was born. The book, "Theophilus North" by Thornton Wilder is a favorite of mine for many reasons. First in some grand exaggerated way I identify with Theophilus, though I am not sure if I force that in my head because I want to believe in some cosmic twist of fate that lead my grandfather to read this book the day of my birth and not something with a crappier protagonist.

Another and more real reason I love this book is for the inscription. I've been hoarding every scrap of my grandfather's writing I can find. His perfect script is more precious to me than gold and every piece of it is a treasure. One of my more superficial thoughts when he passed away is that I'd never see another card with his handwriting. This Christmas this fact hit me in the chest and kicked the shit out of me as I opened up the card from my grandmother. She, like me, has terrible handwriting and would always ask my grandfather to write out the insides of cards and when I only saw her hand, I had to choke back tears. Even the mundane when written in his handwriting is valuable to me and not always for the content and not for the beauty in which it is written, but because it is a representation of his words and sentiments which were always written and sometimes spoken. We're a family of inscribers and card writers and words are cherished above all.

The book still smells like him too.

When I cracked open it's pages and breathed in his smell today, I started crying again and I haven't been able to stop since...

this weekend...

muss es sein?

It has been raining this entire day. Dreary spring rain which makes the grass and weeds grow furiously in the front yard of our little narrow house. All the greenery exists in this vivid shade of green that is so fresh and so new. I know I am as green as the weeds grappling to find my place among the grass. I don't want to be cut down.