Thomas Alexander Houston II (1921-2011)

Today my grandfather, Thomas Alexander Houston II, known to most as "Pop Tom," passed away after a relatively short but difficult battle with cancer. These were the only images I had on hand that reminded me of him. Both are taken at one of his favorite places, High Hampton Inn, in Cashiers, NC, where we had our annual family reunion.

After hearing that he had a massive spot on his lung, he opted not to take chemotherapy. We all knew that, at 90 years old, this was pretty much his death sentence. But even though I knew that, and even though I had that news a few months ago, I still didn't manage to send him that letter I'd been planning to write. So cliche, but you just can't put off things like that. Eventually procrastination really kicks you in the ass.

Earlier this year I wrote a tribute to him on this blog, and I said much of what's on my mind now. In 90 years, that man truly lived -- played golf and swam almost every day up until about five years ago. He was fierce and intense, both in love and anger. He never rode the fence. That much I learned from him. I guess as humans go, you really couldn't find a better one.

I wish I could say I was the granddaughter he wanted, the one he deserved. And sometimes I was I suppose. But lately, in the last fifteen years or so, I really wasn't. At this point I don't even remember all the things that kept me from loving him the way I should've. I know they seemed important at the time, righteous even. But now they seem like such a pile of little things, just a scrap pile of reasons not to make myself vulnerable one more time. He deserved to know how much I loved him, how much his ways and spirit shaped me. Houstons are tough, Houstons endure, Houstons get things done, Houstons go after what they want full speed ahead. Houstons are beautiful.

Sometimes, Houstons are weaker than they'd like to be, but I suppose in the end, Houstons try to let go gracefully.

Best Line from MMU

So here's the best line I've gotten in a paper from Mount Mansfield Union High School, where I'm currently ending up a long-term sub position. (Note: no sarcasm here -- this is actually an awesome line).

[at the end of an essay on the development of the American hero through literature]

"From Romanticism to Postmodernism, American heroes have gone from 'superhuman' to super human."

wish I'd thought of that one!

It's a Beautiful Day

Beautiful weather makes me want to get out in the world and accomplish things.

But it also makes me want to nap in the sun.

Life is full of complicated dilemmas like these.

This Just In...

According to one of my super astute college students:

The 1960's Hippie generation had a significant influence on all the generations that preceded them.

It's a tricky thing, influencing people that lived before you...I hear you have to use The Force.

And another thing...

I've been having an ant problem at Casa Houston, so naturally I invested in some Raid and fumigated the place.

Yesterday I came home to about 204 ant carcasses on my kitchen and sun room floors, and I thought, the exciting life of a 35-year-old-single-woman-with-no-career strikes again! Don't try to tell me you're not jealous.

On Turning 35

Turned 35 last week. Distressing. Overwhelming, really. Finding it hard to speak in complete sentences. Don't say it -- those of you who're older and **ahem** wiser and want to call me a "baby." I know, 35's not the end. It's not even the middle I guess. I hope.

But let's put it this way: I can no longer say I'm going through a Quarterlife Crisis. And a Thirdlife Crisis just sounds like something totally different.

So...wanna know what I did on my 35th Birthday? Well, I started out the day by going to the police station to get fingerprinted. (this was actually for my new job coming up in May, but I did get some satisfaction out of telling my students that all citizens have to get fingerprinted on their 35th birthdays, just as a way of keeping Big Brother in the loop). Then I had a doctor's appointment. After that I went to Friendly's by myself and ate my weight in Munchie Mania and Cinnamon Roll Sundae. Later that night I drove down to Randolph, VT, attended a Taekwondo class at the Randolph Blue Wave (another gym in our Blue Wave association), and went out with a friend of mine afterwards. The tkd class nearly killed me (I think the instructor was "showing off" because I was there) and Ramsey (the friend) and I didn't get to go out until 8:30, and apparently Randolph completely shuts down at 9:00. But I did have some fabulous lasagna and Ramsey made me some awesome butterscotch/oatmeal cookies. Then I went home and watched Law and Order: SVU with my dog.

OK, so I'm not saying it was a bad day, per se -- far from it, in fact. It's just that...well, I remember when I was in high school, and even college, and how my birthday was such a big deal. All day long I would catch myself thinking today's my birthday!!! and realize I was grinning from ear to ear. And usually there was some big extravaganza planned for that night or for the weekend to follow, and so much of the day would be spent anticipating what was to come. But last week it was just kind of like, oh, yeah, today's my birthday. almost forgot. And then I'd think, and once I'm done with this, I get to go to the...doctor. Oh, but then I'm going out to lunch with...myself. I mean, I know people used to tell me that birthdays become less of a thing "as you get older" -- I just didn't expect that to happen at 35.

Then again, there's a lot I didn't expect to happen at 35. And a lot I did expect that apparently didn't survive the cutting room floor of the movie of my life.

Remembering Gamma and Pop Tom

I've just gotten the word that my grandparents, my father's parents, otherwise known as "Gamma" and "Pop Tom," are not doing very well. Pop Tom has fallen and broken his hip, for which he is not going to undergo surgery because he can't withstand the anesthesia. This means he'll be laid up, flat on his back, for about eight weeks. It also means that things are not looking up for him. Meanwhile, Gamma spirals further into full-blown Alzheimer's and now spends her days fighting off those nasty nurses who insist on "assaulting" her by trying to do things like dress her and make her eat, and obsessing over a lost swim suit that she hasn't worn in about five years. These are the days of my late 80s/early 90s grandparents...

So I guess it's only fitting that I write a tribute to them. And on that note, I find myself caught in mixed emotions.

I was the first grandchild. The oldest. Well, at least until we found out about my half-brother, the charmer of the family, and then it was like fruit-basket turnover. But before that I was the oldest. I coined the names "Grandmama" (which got changed to "Gamma" when my next cousin couldn't pronounce the whole thing) and "Pop Tom." I think the best word to describe my relationship with my paternal grandparents is...complicated. My father, their oldest son of five children, died when I was just 18 months old. He apparently was the only person who could ever charm his way around their Southern Aristocratic Gentility (except for my brother, see comment above). I, on the other hand, never seemed to be enough for them. Not petite enough, not feminine enough, not demure enough, not polite enough, not Southern-Belle-ish enough. Just not enough. This, of course, is an accusation they would categorically deny, but that doesn't make it less real to me. And I can honestly say, after almost 35 years of vying for their approval, and receiving it only when I accomplish a "thing," never just for being the awesome person I am, I am tired. I'm tired of having to "adjust" to their version of love, especially when I am surrounded by easy, free, unconditional love. I wish things could've been different.

On the other hand, I find myself reveling in nostalgia anyway. Pop Tom taught me to play Rummy at age 4, and he never went easy on me. To this day I've never met another person who plays Rummy the way he does -- in that all-or-nothing, have-to-be-an-expert-at-remembering-cards way. But I loved it. Still do. And I loved the homemade peanut butter/black walnut milkshakes that went with those late night games. He also taught me to swim like the champion college swimmer (U of Oregon -- Go Ducks!) he was. And when my cousin Rusti, who was like a sister to me, came along, he taught her too. And we spent so many hours down at the Liberty Bell pool in Pine Mountain, GA, diving for pennies and racing from end to end -- his "little guppies." He tried to teach me golf, a love second only to Gamma, but it wasn't my cup of tea. But I still have great memories of riding the greens with him, Classic Coke (in a glass bottle) in my hand, and getting out to putt. And I'm pretty sure I get my love of crossword puzzles from him, although I still can't finish a New York Times (which he did every day) on my own.

Fond memories of Gamma are harder to come by. She was a brilliant painter (oil, acrylic, watercolor), and I always wanted to learn to paint, but whenever I asked her to teach me, she would wave me off and tell me I had to learn about perspective first (apparently from someone else). She was always hardest on me about my weight, my appearance, my lack of Emily-Post-ness. But then to others she would say how proud she was of me and my accomplishments. I still wonder if she was actually proud...and if she would've been proud if I'd never accomplished anything, if I'd just been...me. But there is one thing: her vanilla cupcakes with homemade vanilla frosting. She always made them for me when I was there, regardless of special occasion or not. Granted, she mocked them the whole time, always saying, "these silly things? They're just cupcakes for Heaven's sake! Just regular old cupcakes with 7-minute frosting." But she always made them for me. And I loved them.

In the final analysis, the most difficult thing about our relationship --the most perplexing, the most complicated -- turns out to be the simplest: I love them. Fiercely. And no matter how much water passes under the bridge, that will be the rock that remains.