tick... tick... tick...

As I wrote in an earlier post, my grandfather passed away in January. I asked if I could keep some of his things as keepsakes, specifically his pocket watches. As a hobby, he had been fixing watches for over 60 years. He had amassed tons of watch pieces, among them several pocket watches. I had always loved sneaking peaks at them when I said I was actually taking a nap and had asked that he fix one and give it to me as a graduation gift.

I didn't get to pick out the watches because I went straight back to school after the funeral, then over spring break I was really sick, so my dad just took every pocket watch he could find and put them in a bag then put that bag in my closet. I just found it and went through all the pieces. They're freakin' gorgeous. Curious, I wound one of them. It still ticks. The hands don't move and it needs a new glass face, but it works. I'm sure there's a metaphor in there or something about how my grandfather is still with me, or that time runs out or something, but I'm still trying to work that out.

My goal is to get most of the watches in working order. I think I'll start with the one that still ticks since what needs fixing is just superficial. It's Swiss; that's probably why it still works.

"...everybody hurts..."*

I have a couple sad thoughts on my mind at the moment, so I’ll get them out of the way now rather than bring them up later.

I’m home this weekend and find it difficult to sleep because of upstairs neighbors. Actually, it’s their dog.

There’s no sound more mournful than the howl of a dog. It doesn’t matter whether it’s young or old, it’s always the saddest thing you can ever remember hearing. The dog upstairs is an old cocker spaniel named Muffy. Around 8:30 or 9pm, the humans of the house leave and she starts crying. I guess she’s just lonely.

I saw my grandmother cry today for the first time. My grandfather, her husband of 55 years passed away at 1 o’clock this morning. That’s the reason I came home. I was prepared for his death, but I wasn’t prepared for her tears. In those 55 years, he was a pretty crappy husband to her, but after so long a time, I suppose she had gotten used to him. Now she’s scared to sleep in the apartment alone. I guess she’s just lonely.

*And few bands are sadder sounding than R.E.M.

"And to all a good night!"

As this Christmas comes to a close, I'm given a chance to reflect on how this was a rather odd holiday for me this year. Normally, I'd spend the day at my aunt's house with family in Long Island. Being as ill as I've been the past few days, though, I decided it was best I stay home and continue recuperating. While it was a bit lonely at a few points through out the day, I actually quite enjoyed myself. You see, I'm someone who prizes her solitude. Since I've been home and sick with my parents off from work, solitude is something that has been greatly lacking in my life. So, I guess the best gift I got today was just to be left alone. I don't mean that in a Scrooge, “Bah-humbug” sort of way, (although you should try it sometime, it is fun to say), but in an “O! The cleverness of me!”* sort of way.

Today was really the first day I didn't have any halting coughing attacks, (Mmm, sexy), I thought about what I really wanted to do.

Dance. It. Out.

I don't think there's a day that goes by where I don't have at least fifteen minutes of dancing. With my parents constantly hovering over me and my lungs about to collapse, this hadn't really been possible to do until today. I broke my dance fast with Gopher Mombo by Yma Sumac. Give it a listen. You will be wigglin' in your seat.

Next, I sat down to actually enjoy a couple of movies without having to stop ten minutes in to hack up a lung and go through a quarter of a tissue box. Rather than going for some old standards, I decided to check out a few flicks I'd been meaning to see but hadn't had a chance to. First on the gamete was THX 1138 (1971), a sweet sci-fi number directed by George Lucas. Oh yeah. Quality. Next, I figured I'd stick with the theme of futuristic distopia and directors named George, so I watched Things to Come(1936). Allow me to say, George Orwell knew his shit. Pardon my French. Okay, actually no pardons. I meant it!
When the folks got home in the evening I was treated to the finest of left-overs. I topped it all off with a hot cup of tea while the three of us watched The Incredibles (2004) on tv. God bless us, everyone.

Indeed it was a good Christmas.

* Peter Pan, by JM Barrie