Off the Record

This is getting ridiculous. I keep having dreams about meeting Steve Martin, getting his phone number and then losing it. What does that mean? That, in life, I get really far and then fail right before the job is done? Does it mean I'll never ever ever get to marry Steve Martin like I've wanted to since I was 5-years-old? Or does it mean that, to everyone, he's unattainable and not ready to commit?

If you're out there, Steve, you know where to find me. And this time, I won't lose your number.

I love how any woman with a cigarette thinks she can walk with a swagger--her hips moving side to side nearly a foot from the center from her body. She's usually wearing heels. And tight pants. And most likely a low-cut shirt. Her ass sticks out a bit and her belly might overhang her belt (most likely on its last notch) just enough to give other women something to talk about. A high-pitched voice pierces the air and she laughs a forced laugh with an overconfident sadness validated by the swagger. And the cigarette.

A Sponge Bob Square Pants Dixie® cup

Can of Arizona Ice Tea (3) 

1/8 of a blueberry toaster waffle

Small box of sugar-free Mentos® (the freshmaker)

Soccer DVD (1)

One pair of black Converse® low-tops

Clif Bar (1)

LUNA Bar (1)

A leaf

Chessboard (6 1/2)

My bike 

 

I took on a new job.

I know what you're thinking. But, really--it's not too time-consuming. This involves little children. And running. And uniforms. And LOTS of high-fives. Yes, that's right, folks. I'm a pee-wee soccer coach.

Why we lost today isn't because we have bad offense--it's because we have bad defense. Ok, ok, they're not BAD...just a little shakey. And aloof. Good word: aloof. BUT we did have excellent team spirit. They had green jerseys. I asked what would be a good green name. "Crocs!" one sprout shouted. "Great. So here's our clap," I said, as I held my arms out in front of me and clapped like a croc's mouth would move. The kids mimicked me and laughed...so did the parents. And after every good play they followed suit, clapping like crocs for their kids, who were losing somewhat rottenly.

The kids whiff and trip and run in the wrong directions, while some just stand there and look at me, like I'm supposed to tell them what to do. They call me Coach Truckey and listen to me when I tell them to sit in a circle and tell me something fun about them. They perform the drills without getting bored and raise their hands before they speak. One even sits on my lap. "Shades," I call him.

I haven't spent a Saturday morning any better since I walked to the market in my white dress eating cherries from a shirt pocket.

While enjoying an evening at my favorite outdoor eatery with a honey artichoke salad, I seemed to forget all about my most previous experience with the vegetable. I was in bed for over 12 hours, the thorny fibers pressing against the lining of my stomach. I cancelled plans and delayed commitments all because of that damned artichoke.

A few minutes after completing my last bite of salad, I began reading this in my New Yorker.

Had I only read the magazine the week I got it, like a good reader should, my world would be completely different...

      

For Robert K Graul (1912-2007) Recited on Tuesday, September 4th

"I'm not sure if he ever knew it, but my grandfather left behind eight grandchildren who have all, in some way, carried on his legend. There's the traveler [Annie], the sailor [Eric], the collector [Cindy], the navigator [Jeff], the teacher [Christy], the follower of dreams [Laura], the creative artist [Karen] and the journalist [Sarah]. Whether he was grandpa, grampie, G-Pa, grandfather, gramps or Grandpa Graul, he still made the same impact on us that we never ever took for granted.

Last night, in our grandpa's honour, the eight cousins went bowling. It was more of grandma's thing, as the tradition started at her funeral a few years ago. This was the first time all eight of us had been together since I, the youngest, was very very small. After we got our shoes, our balls and our beverages, we ended up being the only ones in the entire building. I guess we were having a little too much fun because, as we were leaving, the owner of the place said, "What are you guys celebrating?"

How do you say, "Oh, we're celebrating a funeral?" How do you put it that the only reason we're all together in the same place at the same time is due to the death of our grandfather? But Lulu, being the quick thinker she is, said, "We're celebrating our grandfather's life."

Aside from the common traits we share with G-Pa, we'll also remember the smell of his dark room. The little gadgets he made. The thickness of his hands. His piercing blue eyes. The way he played badminton. His electric lawnmower. His passion for fishing, photography and the river. How he shook your hand every time he saw you. His police scanner with the make-shift headphones. How he used to watch golf on TV although he never actually expressed any interest in the sport. When he wore two different shoes. The way he sometimes didn't stop at stop signs. The collage of photos lining the walls to the upstairs at his house. The smell of his wood shop. Brown cows. The worn, dirty, dusty, dilapidated bear school. Crossword puzzles. Dominoes.

Several of us visited the Alton Museum a few days ago and introduced ourselves as Robert's grandkids.
"Without your grandfather," said Charlene, "there would be no museum."
Without my grandfather, I thought, there would be no eight cousins to go bowling in his honour.
Thank you, grandpa. We love you."

sarah truckey®

"I shouldn't have eaten those artichoke leaves," I thought to myself while running through the rain to my car after treating myself to a nice Italian dinner.

"Of course you can!" exclaimed the bartender when I asked if I could eat them.

But, now that I think about it, he was probably referring to the meat ON the leaves rather than the leaves themselves.

"You'll have a bit of gas," said my dad, "but it won't hurt you...you just got a lot of fiber. It's like if you had eaten the husk from the corn."

Right. Sure it is.

 

**UPDATE** 2.06am

Feeling like crap.

STUPID ARTICHOKES!

 

**UPDATE #2** 3PM SATURDAY    

Just got out of bed. Still in pain. 

Word of warning: DO NOT EVER EVER EAT THE LEAVES FROM AN ARTICHOKE. 

 

 

Things are sort of at this calm right now where everyone is slowly coming together to celebrate the life of one man: Our grandpa. A cousin from Nevada, two from Texas, another from Spain, 3 from Missouri and one from Florida. There aren't many of us, but we're all here. After talking to a few of my cousins, there seems to be a commonality between all of us...

Friday morning, my sister was headed to Chicago. She said that, when she woke up that morning and got in the car and headed down 70, she knew she was not going to get to Chicago. My dad called her and she immediately turned around, headed back to Columbia for clothes, then to Alton for comfort.

My cousin, while in the shower that morning in Spain, was thinking about an old lady she had met through a friend. An hour later, she got a call that she had just died the night previous. Then later that day she was chatting with me online about whether or not she should buy a plane ticket to see grandpa, who had just recently been let out of the hospital. We talked for about an hour about his condition and the way we were all handling it. An hour later, she got the call that grandpa had passed.

I was free that day. I had to go to only two jobs, but not until 1 or 2 that afternoon. So I woke up early and got a lot done and enjoyed being off...which hadn't been the case for the past two 12-hour work weeks. Felt very calming. Surreal almost, like I should be doing something. Then my dad called. It's the tone of his voice. "Hello, Sarah" he said somberly.

That whole week all of us cousins had been dreading this call. The phone rings and we jump. We see it's from our mothers and we start to panic.  We hear the news and we freeze, the possibilities of the next 72 hours and the happenings of the past 94 years racing through our minds, somehow all at the same time. 

None of us will say that we didn't appreciate him the way we should have. We all appreciated everything he ever had to offer. Like we did when my grandma, an avid bowler, died, I suggested that we go bowling-just the cousins (our ages ranging from 23-42)-for a little shout-out to the grandparents. So, if you're in Alton on Monday or Sunday night, check out one of the two alleys...we'll be there.

And, thanks to my big sister with her big sisterly advice, I saw him two days before he left. With those blue eyes staring right through me; it was him.