My apologies to loyal readers who waited in vain for me to post yesterday. I took the day off to spend with my family.

---

Some anecdotes:

I saw the niftiest thing yesterday as I was driving around town. There was a truck in front of me, getting ready to turn left, and along with the usual blinking taillight in the back, there was a blinking arrow inside the rear-view mirror. It was made of a bunch of little red lightbulbs that had been placed behind the mirror, so that when they were off, it looked like a normal mirror, but when they were on, it looked like, well, like a bunch of little lights were shining through the mirror. It was really neat looking, and I wanted to follow the guy for a while to find out when he turned right whether the lights would still be on the driver-side mirror, only with the arrow pointing right instead of left, or if the arrow would appear on the passenger-side mirror instead.

My grandparents live in San Antonio, and Matt and my grandfather were talking about the Spurs' recent basketball championship. Grandad mentioned that his dental hygenist had paid $50 to see the championship game. Matt said, "That's pretty reasonable for playoff tickets!" My grandfather: "Yes, but that had to be a whole week's salary for her!" After a moment's thought, he amended it to two or three days' pay. Now, I don't know what hygenists make, but, um...

My family has a tradition for fighting over the check when we go out to dinner as a large group. It's pretty good entertainment, and in recent years the youngest generation (mine) have begun to help their parents. (We're not expected to take part in the competition, though lately Matt and I have begun arguing with my father over the check when it's just my immediate family.) Last night, my dad managed to grab the check first, and my grandfather and grandmother immediately tried to get one of us grandchildren (sitting between them and my dad) to get the check and pass it to them. We refused. At one point, Grandmom appealed to John, and John said, "Did you say something?" while feining to be deaf. After we'd gotten home, Grandmom was still trying to make dad take some money from her, and John quipped that if she wanted to give it away that badly, she could give it to him. Never one to miss a beat, Grandmom turned around. "Did you say something?"

And one from last weekend that I had forgotten: While we were watching the fireworks, the guys were joking: "It's the same ending every year; I don't know why I bother to watch any more." "Yeah, the Americans win every year!" "Just once I'd like to see the Brits win. It's depressing!" "Well, I'm getting used to the futility." Without looking away from the fireworks, I said, "It's sortof like being a Cubs fan." I thought Matt was going to make me sleep outside, but it's pretty rare for me to actually get off one of those zingers with such good timing, so I couldn't resist.

---

My grandfather is almost frightening frail. He's been moving slower and more carefully for years now, but now it takes him almost ten minutes just to get in and out of the car, and he has trouble just standing up and sitting down. He absolutely refuses any help, but everyone is hovering anyway. I'm sure it irritates him to no end. When we went to see the construction on our new house, he admitted that he wasn't up to climbing the (finally-installed) stairs to see the second floor. I'm relieved that his mind is still mostly sound (his idea of fair wages and tips for waiters notwithstanding) but it's worrying to see how much weight he's dropped. My father says that he thinks my grandmother pushed for this reunion now because she isn't sure he'll make it until Christmas, and I think I agree. I'm afraid I'll be flying to San Antonio for a funeral before another year is past.

I've had brief conversations with my father and my brother about what will happen to my grandmother when that happens. She likes to present a very strong, self-sufficient front, and she's very adamantly opposed to "worrying" anyone else with their troubles. It's happened several times that Grandad will go into the hospital for relatively minor surgery (no surgery is really minor at his age) and no one else in the family find out about it until he was home again. And this despite the fact that Grandmom has e-mail and my parents call them every weekend. The consensus is that Grandmom will either handle Grandad's death with exquisite strength and poise and go on to become an energetic, busy widow - or that she'll give up and die, herself, shortly afterwards. It will be one extreme, or the other - Grandmom has never been the sort of person to do anything middle-of-the-road. But that second options scares us.

It makes me feel frightened, and vulnerable. I realized that I'd reverted to calling my father "Daddy" instead of just "Dad" - which I haven't done for at least a decade. Aside from greetings and farewells, we're not a very touchy family, but I keep reaching out and putting a hand on peoples' shoulders, or around a waist, or giving hugs. (One pleasant note - my two male cousins, Craig and David, didn't shy away from hugs or move forward with resignation on their faces the way they used to. Whether they've actually matured enough to be over the adolescent male anti-hug phase, or if they've just learned to control their facial expressions better, it's a good thing.)

Everyone gets older. Everyone dies, and my grandfather hadn't expected to live past 75 (none of his brothers did) and here he is at 86. I will die one day, and the idea doesn't particularly frighten me. I don't want to die, mind you - but I'm not afraid of it. But other deaths strike deep into my heart. They remind me how frightening it is to be alone.