journal
Grammy and her tongue, at some point in the 70’s.
In the midst of the aftermath of July 6th, 2020, our entire family huddled up under the same roof at Grammy and Pop Pop’s down in Costa Mesa for the first time in years…maybe four or five. Michael wanted to be far from home.
We spent two straight days absolutely trashing the living room and kitchen table as we sorted through sixty years of boxes filled with old family photos and cards and negatives. I asked if I was allowed to keep a large stack I had put to the side of pictures I had never before seen of my parents and old relatives on my moms side of the family that I hadn’t met, at least in my conscious self. Grammy objected to half the stack — however, when we got to this photo in particular, she said something along the lines of: “Heck yes, get that thing out of my face. I never want to see that picture of me ever again.”
As soon as Jillian graduated high school and left for college, Mom took that as her queue to pack up and leave California. She’s dreamt of living on Cape Cod for years to start her own inn like Lorelai Gilmore. Except it wouldn’t be an inn…more like a motel, and in Massachusetts instead of Connecticut. Huge distinctions.
She’ll call her place the Anchors Away Motor Lodge and there will be blue shutters and hydrangeas everywhere and she’ll have little handwritten cards for everyone and she’ll host parties and writing retreats and probably make her world famous oatmeal chocolate chip cookies all the time and guests will beg her for the recipe but she’ll decline because it’s be her big secret and I know, factually, that it’ll pan out to be the cutest motel in the whole fucking state. Because everything she does, she does best.
To be able to watch Mom make her adventure come to life all on her own from the sidelines has been such a blessing. For her to show her children that you can change who you are at any chapter in life. For her to be that built in role model for me and to consistently deliver. I hope to be that for someone else. I hope she will let me help paint.
On second thought, maybe she will share the cookie recipe. Mom is very generous.
When Grandpa Roger passed away, I inherited all his old records. After all, I was the only one in the entire family who still had a player.
At the ripe age of 16, I initially skimmed past all the Jefferson Airplane and George Harrison and went straight for the classical music with the pretty cover and cute name: Themes For Young Lovers by Percy Faith & His Orchestra. I mean, whoever said “don’t judge a book by its cover” must not have meant literally. Sorry – but if you can’t even pick a good album cover, your music is probably shit. Same thing goes for books. This is true almost all of the time.
Themes For Young Lovers became the soundtrack to my little high school life. On my way to chem lab listening to Our Day Will Come, or whatever. You can imagine my excitement when I discovered More Themes For Young Lovers, the sequel album. Who are those people on the cover?
I love Jefferson Airplane and George Harrison, now. Maybe growing into your music taste isn’t too different from developing taste buds with age. Suddenly you’re 23 and need avocado on everything and can stand tomatoes occasionally, depending on how they’re prepped, and appreciate wine paired with certain dishes to enhance the whole thing. But growing up, there was only mac & cheese.
click to listen!
