Grandfather @ MindSay

My grandfather used to call me that. He was an interesting man, and not actually my grandfather. My grandmother remarried very late in life. My father's father died when I was three, and from what I understand was not particularly missed - a violent and unhappy man. Grandpa Jim came into my life when I was around 9 or 10, and left it when I was sixteen. I saw him a year before he died, two years after my grandmother had died, and I remember him being happy and not at all concerned with how close he was to death.

To this day, Bittersweet has been the most accurate nickname I've ever been given, and I've been given plenty. Shadow, Yaya, Schwarzenegger, Chuck, Dragonfly, Kitkat, Psycho, Fairy-girl - just a few names I've been slapped with in my time.   I didn't like it when he first started calling me Bittersweet. I thought he was making fun of me. At that point in my life, most of the spontaneous nicknames I'd received (meaning not a derivative of my name) had been ones chosen because they bothered me. It wasn't until years later that I realized he called me that because he couldn't figure out why this sweet, loving little girl could turn into an angry, caustic brat in less time than it took the Florida legislature to divert school funding.

The name still fits - I'm less bitter than I was, but it's still there. I'm also loving, caring, generous, and all those other things too. It balances out.

I've always had this fascination with the Brooklyn Bridge.  To me, it ranks up there with the Empire State Building, The Chrysler Building, Museum Mile, and the late Twin Towers if you want to think of 'key New York landmarks'.  There are so many bridges in New York, and all of them are important and nice to look at, but none of them have ever done it for me the way the Brooklyn Bridge does.  I'm completely in awe of it.  Last year, when my view out my bedroom window WAS the Bridge, I think I cried a little (this year my view is the NYU arch and the Empire State Building which is currently lit up orange...<3) because I was so fortunate to be right there.  I never really thought to try to name my feelings...just that they were there.

And then yesterday, when I was talking to my parents about our immigration history so I could recount it to my students, it sorta hit me.  I was reminded of something I've known about my entire life, but just re-thought about.  The reason my grandfather had absolutely no hearing; why we'd have to SCREAM into the phone for him to hear us.

The way he and his friends used to jump off the Brooklyn Bridge for fun.  I think that's it.  I think that is at the heart of my connection to the bridge.  The fact that where I'm standing, where I'm leaning against the railing, where I'm looking ... he was there too.  And he wasn't just there.  He was ALIVE there.  Not just alive like I'm alive.  He was in the moment, caught up, having fun, young and carefree, decades before I knew him as my grandpa alive.  He was probably younger than I am now, being wild and crazy despite the hardships he faced. 
And I got to walk right where he walked on Saturday.

Can a girl get any luckier?

*It's moments like this that make me miss you more than anything.  I won't ever forget you (any of you).

.My flight for Vermont leaves tomorrow morning.

.I have wanted to post so many entries lately. Cover so many themes and situations. I just couldn't bring myself to do it. But I realize that at such a turning point in my life I suppose I'm obligated to post something.

.My grandfather came by today to say hello and see his dog. He said something that I thought was incredibly odd for him to say but possibly true. He said that once I go up there, my life will be changed entirely. I can't remember if he said "forever" but that seems appropriate. Also dramatic.

.I tried to move my cat to the garden room so she would have more space to move around. My bedroom is kind of cramped for her to spend all her time and I feel sorry for her. Transporting her the four feet to the garden room was a disastrous event. The dogs went wild when they saw her and chased her about the house and into the dining room. I caught her there, her claws digging into my flesh in fear. I eventually got her sealed in the garden room, but she was horrified. She crawled beneath one of the recliners to hide. I decided to take her out and calm her down, so I looked under the chair to pull her out. She wasn't there. I looked everywhere and came back to the chair to see the lump from her little body inside the lining beneath it. She had somehow gotten into the lining of the chair. Saddened by the desperate nature of my cat, I drug the huge chair into my room to try and release her. I left the chair there for over an hour hoping she would come out. She never did. After prodding the chair a few times, I realized she was stuck. I eventually had to pull open the lining to release my crying feline. She immediately leapt from it and hid beneath my bed. That poor unfortunate soul.

.Attempting to fit my life into a few suitcases was not an easy task, but I did it. For the most part, that is. Unfortunately, at least one of my bags is definitely over the weight limit... Hopefully, I won't end up paying too much in extra baggage fees...