Dad

Wayne drove Nolie to Houston today to pick up Jerry. Or, Jerry's ashes, I should say. I did not drive with them, as I had already expressed my displeasure with the idea of leaving Houston in the first place, on Tuesday, knowing we would only have to return on Thursday to retrieve the cremains. The word "cremains" reminds me of "craisins," the snack mix with cranberries and raisins.


I went looking through old family photo albums today, and found many pictures of Jerry, and his father, Grandaddy. (Other people called him Earnest, but I called him Grandaddy.) It occurred to me, and I did the math, that Grandaddy died when Daddy was just 44. I am only 40 today, and it must have been just as difficult for Dad then, as it is for me now. I remember Grandaddy was living at the Old Folk's Home in Mansfield, Texas, where we would visit him occasionally, and one night, the phone rang and the person calling said that Mr. Foose was being transferred to the Arlington Community Hospital. Mom and Dad left and came back several hours later, and Grandaddy was dead. In the mean time, Alien debuted on VEU, (pronounced "view") and scared the hell out of me while my parents were both gone and I was home alone. (VEU was a subscription service similar to HBO, except it was broadcast over the airwaves on a UHF channel after 7pm and you had to pay to have a special decoder box to decode the signal.) VEU was a precursor to cable. So, anyway, Nolie and Jerry left the house in a panic, were gone long enough for me to watch Alien in it's entirety, then came home and told me Grandaddy was dead. Alien always reminds me of my Grandfather.