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Sometimes it amazes me that I never run out of things to say...but what amazes me even more is that right now, I have so much to say but I can't find a way to say it. It is hard to see someone you love hurting and I find myself not even wanting to talk or think about his pain. Instead, I think I'd rather talk about the Pops I knew before his brain tumor.
I was filing Pops' nails for him the other day so I spent a lot of time studying his hands. I have a thing for hands in general because I believe a person's hands say a lot about him or her. Usually when I meet someone, I'll sneak a look or two at their hands to get an idea of what kind of life that person leads. My Pops' hands speak loudly of his life.
Popop has huge hands, a farm boy's hands. That is one thing that has not changed. His fingers are gnarled and his palms broad and well-worn: the perfect hand to hold. I remember when I was a little girl how small my hand felt when it disappeared into Popop's big, strong hand; I knew I was safe when my hand was wrapped in those hard-working hands. Strong hands that held onto me when the ocean would swirl around my ankles and with a swift tug, pull my legs out from under me. Gentle hands that would clean tar from the beach off my feet and wipe my tears when I played in the ant pile. Firm hands that reminded me of the proper way to behave. Capable hands that helped build the room I grew up in and made the best pancakes on the face of the earth. Rough hands that would slam open and shut every cabinet in the kitchen at 6 in the morning even though my sister and I were sleeping 10 feet away. Patient hands that played hours of Uncle Wiggly with my sister and taught me how to play rummy. Hands that worked on a farm, survived a Depression and a War, raised 5 children, were married for 64 years, and constantly folded in prayer. I love those hands!
I am lucky that I can sit with Pops for a few hours every day and get to hold those hands that I love so much and that did so much for me. My hand still gets lost in his. I look forward to the occasional sentence uttered and the even rarer smile. I love to see the way he looks at my Mimi. He may not remember who I am, but he could never forget his Mae. They are a wonderful example of true love for me as I'm getting ready to start my life with my honey. I've got great grandparents...I'm a lucky girl!
Only a few more days here and then it's back to real life. Wedding countdown is down to 56 days! I can't wait!
Today's the day! I'm leaving for Pennsylvania in a little over an hour. I am both excited and scared to go...I know it's going to be quite the learning experience for me!
What I really want to write about though...is airports.
I love airports. It doesn't matter which airport I'm in, I'm in love. And no, I don't like airports because I'm "emo". Only Darrick Dowdy and Michael Butterworth would understand that and I know neither of them will read this but I felt like that was necessary to establish haha. Anyway...
What is it about these places that I love? I love the smells. There is something about the way an airport smells. The swirling of 173 different colognes and perfumes mixed with floor cleaner, fast food (all outrageously priced I might add), and magazines. I love the people. Hundreds of thousands of people from all over the world pass through airports everyday going thousands of different places for a million different reasons. I love being surrounded by all these strangers, everyone with their own lives, worries, problems and bad outfits. I like to watch everyone as they walk by me and imagine what their lives are like. Where are they going? What do they do? Where in the world did he find that awful hat? What was that girl thinking when she decided to wear those 5 inch platforms at 5am this morning? I love it! I could sit here all day, drinking my Starbucks coffee as if I always drink coffee and spilling crumbs from my blueberry muffin all over my shirt, my computer and the floor, and just watch people. Speaking of blueberry muffins- muffins make such a mess! They are always crumbling all over the place. I don't know what I was thinking when I bought the dumb thing.
I love airports because nobody knows who I am. I like to think that people wonder about me...the weird girl in the purple pants sitting on the floor in front of the Men's room with muffin crumbs on her shirt and a stone age laptop. Maybe they think I'm important. Maybe they think I'm a nobody. Some of them probably think I'm homeless because it doesn't look like I brushed my hair this morning. I like to pretend that I am important. That I have some crucial destination and the whole world hinges on my arrival there. That somehow, my traveling today is making a difference in people's lives. Sometimes, I even pretend like I'm a princess in disguise...shh don't tell!
I love the feeling of leaving a place I love to go see somewhere new, all the while knowing that in 8 days, 11 days, 23 days I'll be coming back. I'll get to step off the plane into the dry heat, walk across the awful airplane carpet that seems to be a requirement in all airports, get in a car and be HOME.
And I sound like a total cheeseball haha...but I'm just sayin! :)
Sidenote- thing I don't love about airports..having to take off my shoes and walk where everyone else has walked in their bare dirty gross feet. Yuck.
