Saturday, June 18, 2011

Grave Grandfather

Before I continue, I would like to say to everyone that might read this, please write more on yours. It's like facebook, but just a paragraph that you pour lots of your thoughts and emotions into in the hopes that you pour lots of your thoughts and emotions out at all.

  6:45 a.m. - I awake to the brutishly shrill sound of my father's wake up call while trying to keep warm in 60 degree fahrenheit temperature parent's house/condo/garden home under two blankets thin and useless enough to be made of children's blankets.

  7:13 a.m. - Stop at newly spawned Carmel Starbucks to solicit father's day eve morning coffee from children that are better at making coffee than Tom Cruise making cocktails. These people are learning way too early that just because it takes a lot of training and talent to do does not mean it pays very well. Either way I tip my hat to professional buristas and want this part more to focus on I am driving separate from my father, following his Chrystler 300c with my Mercury Cougar. You gotta love cars.

 8:00 a.m. Arrive at Autumn Glen Assisted Living Facility

           My grandfather sits on his ever so simultaneously helpful yet petulant chair/walker/throne. He wears a dingy white netted baseball hat and a smile from ear to ear. He is extremely pleased to see his pride and joy first born son, my father Randy Lee Brake.
                      (Background: Randy Lee Brake) - Randy Lee Brake is the first born son of his father Willie/Woody Brake. Just to reiterate, some people referred to my grandfather as Woody Brake. Just saying.)
            We being myself, my father Randy Lee........Brake, Woody Brake's second born son Tony, Woody the Willie Brake's first and only female offspring Michelle and her second husband Bill Sweet. That is the we. Why describes three motives: 1. To move Willie Brake out of Autumn Glen Assisted Living Facility. 2. To obey Willie Brake's demand for breakfast for his family at his favorite old people allowed restaurant to enjoy a nice Father's Day Eve Breakfast with people they rarely converse with over the span of many years. Their family. 3. To move Willie/Woody Brake into a nursing home.

      9:15 a.m. - Tavern Lounge? Or Lodge Tavern? I don't remember the name and it's no big loss.
             
               Breakfast is a meal that is on a bell curve over the span of a life. As a child I was always fed early morning breakfast, even if it was only pop-tarts or Captain Crunch's Oops Only Crunch-Berries Cereal, it had enough sugar or caffeine or fat or carbs or trans fat or calories or who honestly gives a shit anymore? It's fear of stuff we have no idea how to make or test for or smell or recognize on a molecular level. Maybe table salt. Sodium Chloride. Yeah, some stuff just sticks. The best Breakfast ever was always on Sunday after church for me. (Before I continue I would like to acknowledge the church-gives a shit connection.) We would eat as a family in a nice pancake or BLT restaurant and they always had the claw machine and I became addicted and then consequently got my father, Randy Lee Brake addicted to. Yesterday we went and saw the Green Lantern and he stopped at a 2$ play till you win a crappy stuffed animal prize machine, yet his joy was contagious. He rallied a crowd around the machine all sort of spurting out their two cents on which stuffed animal would be their horse in the Kentucky Derby of which one could my dad get out in one - two tries.
                 This Morning at Lounge Tavern we had one of those breakfasts. Today was just one of those monumental breakfasts that energizes you for the whole day and move process and work and now at this time of night, you are still moved by the days events. Also, Randy Lee Brake is a "guess" tipper. That is someone who doesn't even look at the bill, they just guess a number in their head the haven't used in a while. The day before we went to Steak 'n Shake and ordered two large milkshakes to-go. They took twenty minutes, they were the wrong size and my father had already paid. The twelve year old smiled as he handed out two items: my dad's credit card receipt and a

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