Somewhere over the rainbow....

I think of him on spring days with warm rains--mushroom growing weather. My Grampa loved those days. With a small pail in hand, He would head to his favorite spot and ferret out morels. As kids, we were free to and encouraged to join him at any time. We learned the technique of bending to pick and peering around for more. We may have been gone for hours and walked miles, but it never ceased to be fun under Grampa's patient tutelage. Afterwards, if we begged enough, we might be treated to a coke and chips while he had a cold "shell" at the local watering hole. Everyone knew and loved my Grampa. He grew up sadly, a poor and abused orphan that ran away from foster homes till he was old enough to support himself. The lore is that his Grandma was a Native American that married a French man. With his snowy white hair, hooked kind of nose, and bronze tanned skin--he certainly looked the part. He kept his whiskey bottle in the basement and was known to indulge a couple of times a day. He referred to Grandma affectionately as "the war department", even though they were married nearly 60 years. I remember being all trussed up (yes, like the Christmas goose) and ready to go out and wow 'em, when Grampa would comment, "what do you call a get up like that?" Or "did you mean for your hair to look like that?" "Looks like you been runnin' in the wind!" One time I was out for a run when Gramps pulled up next to me to ask if I needed a ride somewhere. When I puffed out that I was running to drop a few pounds, He asked me to let him know where so He wouldn't hit it with his car. Always the comic, that one. He was an avid Tiger fan and went to Tiger Stadium for most home games when he was living in Detroit. Able to quote stats and such at any time, He never missed a televised game. We always kept him in current yearbooks, and he pored over them. Grampa was healthy till he had a massive stroke and even then he religiously did the prescribed exercises till he could walk, talk and had most use of his arm. Grampa cooked all meals in the same cast iron skillet. Cholesterol was a foolish notion. He would fry a half a pound of bacon for breakfast along with 3 eggs or so. Then saving the bacon grease, he would use it to cook up a good greasy burger for lunch with a side skillet of fried onions. I will never smell the smell of fried onions without thinking of him. Once a month, during my "woman time", my Grandpa would have me over for lunch. A big helping of his famous liver and onions would give me the shot of iron I needed, not to mention nearly clogging my last artery. He would start getting things ready around 9:45 a.m. and would anxiously wait for my arrival. Gramps loved the old home remedies. A poultice was advised for most maladies. And regular kerosene would work if we were ever cursed with lice. Many times upon arriving home, I would find cabbage, tomatoes, zucchini , corn and potatoes-- vegetables from his well tended garden. His baseball prowess was well known locally for both his playing and coaching abilities. He could be found in the stands for cheering and advising-even on those long, boring t-ball games, because nothing was more important than baseball and grand kids. He taught us all to play cribbage and would even sit through long, riveting games of war. He could be counted on to ferry children to and from preschool or kindergarten. My colicky son was lovingly threatened to be "sent back to the Indians." "Put him on some old squaws back--that'll fix him!" Grandpa was a reverent man and never missed Mass. As a God fearing man, He was not afraid to die. On his deathbed, He asked St. Paul to "please call this old man up. I've done it all and twice if I liked it." Of course, I had to ask how He was so assured He was going in the direction of the sky. His faith had made him ready to see his Lord's face--a sentiment I am sure was mutual. So Gramps, whether you are mushroom hunting, enjoying a shell, or playing cards--I know that heaven is more fun with you there. See ya when I see ya. xoxo