My Grandfather Passed Away Feb 26th: Updated

Fair winds and following seas, Grandpa.

My Grandpa passed away yesterday. I sent pictures to put in a slide show, and the funny thing is... even if the pictures weren't of Grandpa himself - I want to put them in there. There's this one video clip of some sandpipers running down the beach, evading waves as they roll in. I associate that with him.

I think I even associate my entire idea of manhood with Grandpa. He had great big paws that my little hands would hold. He also had a great big sense of humor. His smile was as genuine as his laugh.

It's been some time coming now, though. His departure that is. He'd been riddled with Parkinsons for many years.

Lately it had become my Grandmother's full-time occupation to care after him; in the last month he developed dimentia.

He had such a wonderful life though. A loving wife, a loving family.

The funeral was quiet and meaningful. My mother wrote a very moving poem about him. I could not have read it. My cousin and I wore our Service "A" uniforms to honor his memory. There was an army detail there to fold the flag and present it to Grandma. I was able to take a small part in that ceremony and it meant a lot.

I can only imagine Grandpa is in a better place now, and that his funeral was our tribute to his life. I told my little brother that if in 46 years my three grandsons and five granddaughters are at my funeral, celebrating their collective memories with me, I'll be proud.

New Floor

The floor is in. It was a learning experience. Good thing it was a 900$ boat. I'll be much better the next time.

But the floor is rock solid, and I put some abrasive flakes in the paint to make it non-slip. Turned out just fine I reckon.

Lunar Eclispe and the Beach

The Weekend

This weekend I went to Camden and helped mi' Padre tile his floor. He chose really nice 16x16 tile, and I convinced them to lay it diagonally. It's going to turn out beautiful once it's grouted and the adhesive is cleaned up.

Funny thing though. Razor knifes cut. I was opening another box of tile with about 30 tiles left to go, and the strap slipped and I plunged the knife into my forearm. Instantly realizing stiches were necessary, I pinched the flesh back together and thought about some gauze and tape... hmmph... tiled away into the kitchen~! Wouldn't be able to get to them for 24 hours!

Colin, who I should mention outworked me this weekend, and was a real champ, helped me find a rag and some electrical tape. Having punctured myself a few times before, I realized this meant 300 dollar co-pay time if I didn't get back to Beaufort. So I left and drove back 2.5 hrs. I did go to a grocery and pick up some bacitracin, gauze and medical tape though. I also picked up a few odd looks in perusing the isles with my arm wrapped in a cut up nightgown and electrical tape. How funny...

Here to Please

Colin mentioned that as bloggers grow, one can read a post and know who posted it just by the writing. Mine tend to be like snippets from 'This Old House". So here's one in that mold:

I'm a skill-junkie. I like learning new skills. This week it was fiberglass. Here are a few notes you'd want to keep in mind if you ever cut out the floor of a boat and re-fiberglass it:

-Dust masks are insufficient. Gas masks from work are alright. Respirators are designed for the job.

-Gloves are a must, which seems obvious, so how about this one: many gloves are a must. Each layer, each coat requires new gloves. They get ruined. Don't try to use latex gloves. They're too thin. I only had one latex glove left for the last coat and tried to use a grocery bag. Don't try that. My hands stuck together something fierce, and refuse to get clean. Superglue is for fairies.

-Paint brushes were the manufacturer's suggested application tool, utilizing a dabbing motion with the ends of the bristles to get the resin and hardener down into the fibers. I found this advice to be accurate. I tried to use a paint can stirrer to slide the resin on, and a scrub brush to dab the resin in more efficiently. Stick to paint brushes. Ones you're not attached to, because the 3 incher I used can now be rolled down the bowling alley for strikes everytime - it's so hard. The paint brushes are one-use only. The scrub brush is stuck to my spare plywood. I can lift the 4 x 8 sheet by the brush.

Alison made me a book for Valentine's day. It's not quite a scrapbook, and not just a card. It was heartfelt and sincere, creative and touching. I refused to look at the camera on several occasions because she would have known how much it meant to me - and had a giggle at my expense. I did appreciate it very much babe. You're supremely talented at all things creative. Your skills have progressed!

Thought Rentals

I haven't written anything other than projects for a long time. It's been because I'm working on those a lot. But today is my birthday, and I took off work... so this morning I'm enjoying my coffee and flipping through some channels when Joyce Meyer flailed her arms at me and said "dyat, dyat, dyat, dyat, dyat." Interested, I flipped back to her.

She was talking about driving by what I gathered was a mountain, and for some reason this mountain, or billboard, or whatever, made her upset. She said, "each day while driving by this thing, I got a little more and more upset. I spent years doing that. It was only after I realized how the rest of my days went (they followed that upset rhythm), that I said to myself, 'by the grace of God, I'm going to discipline myself to not be upset.'"

Disciplining our thoughts. There's something to write about. Why should we have to discipline them? Why can't she choose what she thinks; how she feels? Why doesn't that mountain show her beauty instead of simply being an obstacle?

Who owns our thoughts if not us?

There Joyce is this morning, trying to teach people how to adjust the leases on their thoughts, as if the thoughts themselves own themselves, and we're simply landlords. Or the mountain owned her thoughts. Now, chime in if I'm wrong, but I believe we choose how we feel. Right down to the initial reaction. Most of us place our thoughts in autopilot though, simply to feel how we do based on our own preconception of who we are and how we've reacted to that circumstance in the past.

There's a turnbridge on my route to work (click here for comic strip, set it to fast for effect). When the line of cars waits, I imagine everyone cussing silently to themselves about the inconvenience. But here are some pictures of those scenes, what's so important that these aren't beautiful anymore? That all we feel is annoyed? I've been working on burning through all that lease paperwork on my thoughts, and taking real ownership. I plant the seed where I like.... You miss real beauty by leasing your thoughts to the daily grind, to the thoughts, themselves, to worrying about the future...

Redneck Bluetooth

Last week it struck me as funny that I hang my cell phone from the garage door opener and use it hands-free. It doesn't have bluetooth, and I would much rather do this than walk around with a silly-looking earbud in my head. I see a ton of people that don't even need to talk on the phone to have it hanging there.

Kayaking today was breezy, sunny and beautiful. I complete my redneck look with sunglasses that go over my glasses. Yes!

New Sink Shows Roots

I installed a new faucet and drain tonight; the old one served 27 years faithfully and retired with honors.

The directions were weird. Drawing are nice, but when I read these directions, I seemed to hear Colin's voice in my head. Then I noticed 1.G: "Spit and drink a pop. See? We told you it was no fun to get that stuff in your mouth," referring to its prior warning while disconnecting the drain.

I thought, "what kind of directions are those?" And then I thought, "no way - I wonder where the factory is." If anyone else had bought this faucet besides good ol' Indiana-Tom, they would wonder what the engineer meant by 'pop'.

My suspicions were correct: Indianapolis.