written for Pieces of You
My meeting with the Psycho is scheduled for tomorrow. I had another high blood pressure episode today, but the thing was, I wasn't all that upset, except about the high blood pressure itself. I've been feeling physically fragile, which is scary, but not emotionally fragile, which is a nice change of pace for me. And then I thought, maybe it's the caffeine. Maybe it's the one cup of coffee I have in the morning that's not reacting too well with the meds I'm taking now, and not that I'm letting the Psycho get to me. Because, of course, if she gets to me, then she wins, and I'm not letting her win.
Last Wednesday, when all of this crashed down on me, I didn't so much have trouble sleeping as I did letting myself go to bed. Whenever I closed my eyes in the dark, I just couldn't wipe all the insanity clear out of my mind. I thought, I need to go to my happy place. I've tried that before, a bunch of times, but this time, I really had to think about it, since nothing was working.
Usually, when I try the happy place thing, I go back to a state park in south Jersey that we went to when the kids were little. We stayed there for a week, I think, for four summers in a row. We stayed in a neat little log cabin that was built by the CCC during the Depression, when they carved a state park out of the woods. Out front there was a patio, where we would build a fire in the pit each night. But one afternoon, Hubs took the girls out for a walk and there I was, lying on a lounge chair, under the sunlight sparkled tall trees. Eyes closed. It always comes back to me when I try the happy place thing.
This time I remembered that I was only able to lie there for about ten minutes before I jumped up, too much sun in my eyes, bored. A nice picture. But not so much my happy place.
I thought of EPCOT. The first time I went there after my brain surgery, how Sibs and I walked through the EPCOT gates and looked at each other but didn't say anything and knew that we were both thinking "We're alive. We made it. We're here." It's a great moment, and even a great moment to live in, but although it's a place, it's not my happy place. It's not a place I can go to in my mind and stay there and feel good. It was a moment; it doesn't last.
There I was, lying in the dark trying to sleep and trying to think: if I had to be anyplace, any one place forever, where would it be? Of course, then I knew. I wrote about it once before, too, just after I started keeping this diary. I would be in the den in the house where I grew up, sitting on the old leatherette, uncomfortable sofa, waiting for Grandpa Sam to come downstairs and play Meet the Presidents with me. Then he would be there, he would give me Chiclets and maybe a quarter, and we would play.
It's my heaven. That is, when I get to heaven, that's where I want to be, and that's who I want to be with. Grandpa Sam.
Although I've written about him some before, I'm always surprised that I haven't written more. In a way, I'm surprised that I haven't written every single diary entry about him. Of course, it's just possible that I have.
When Jack died, I wrote that he had come to replace Grandpa as my hero, and I think that's true. But the fact remains that Grandpa was the biggest influence on my childhood, and so that means, on my life. Once again, a favorite quotation from a book I've never read:
The anomaly of childhood is that despite its brevity, childhood takes up a lot of square footage in memory's tight quarters.
Jill Ciment, The Law of Falling Bodies
He is the towering figure of my childhood, a meek-looking immigrant with no accent, a strapping five-foot-three, a man with a magic smile, black eyes, and a bulb-shaped-nose.
I learned from him to be unaggressive, to be a good worker, to be honest, to be good to people, to love people, to want to be loved, to love to learn. Yes, my parents shared these values, and I learned things from them, too. But parents, who love you unconditionally, still love you with expectations. You are expected to clean your room, to eat your meals, to do well in school. Grandpa loved me with absolutely no expectations, except that I was there to be loved by him. That's a good one. I loved every minute I ever spent with him. I can't think of any better influence than that.
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I'm watching Antiques Roadshow
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