Mortaine’s Blog

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My grandfather* would have been 101 years old today.

Well, maybe not. He lived to 82, but he probably wouldn’t have made it to 101.

Here are things I remember about Grandpa:
He was a big man– not only tall (at 6′2″), but also large. We used to consider it a point of pride when one of us kids could finally wrap her little arms all the way around him.
He played Scrabble with me in the mornings before school.
He let me eat whatever I wanted from the kitchen. He always shrugged and said “That’s what it’s there for.”
He kept real (natural) peanut butter around.
He was always reading a book, and usually writing one.
He kept Chiclets in his desk.
His smell– I can’t even describe it, but there’s this smell that’s part-cool-basement, part Chiclets, part Grandpa.
He had a table in his living room that only held the books he had written (1 copy of each book). I want a table like that.
There was only one room that I remember in his house that didn’t have a bookcase in it (the dining room).
I remember his Christmas parties– 300 or more people coming to the house the weekend after Christmas (before Christmas?) to mingle and tell stories. I learned how to slip through a crowd quickly at those parties. I also learned how to cater.
I remember Christmas morning at his house, with the wrapping paper that Depression-raised Grandma made us save, and the hand-labelled stockings, and my whole family playing Christmas carols, with me jingling a little bell on the stairs.
He made sourdough pancakes every weekend when we stayed over. I wish I still had some of his starter.
He was a great cook– he did all the cooking for himself and my grandmother. We used to come over for fried chicken and corn on the cob once a week, especially after my parents divorced.
His hands were always so big.
He always made room in his lap for us.
He never talked down to me.
The last car he drove was an old 1970’s dark green Maverick. It was huge. It smelled, too– like dust.
As he got older, Mom always made us kiss him goodbye and tell him we loved him, every time we left his house, even though he lived 2 blocks away. When he died, I never doubted that he knew how much we loved him.

I am sure that I would not be the person I am today if he wasn’t in my life.

* The link is slightly incorrect; they claim he authored a dozen books. I remember it as being about 32, but I don’t know how many were second editions of earlier books.