Grandpa and the MaryJ

Monday night, McStudly and I went to Mama and Papa Bear's house to go swimming, let the pup get worn out by Luke (their Yellow Lab), and have dinner with the family one more time while Aunt Sylvia is in town.

Before reading further, please refer back to Mighty Good - a blog about my shortcomings as a cook, through the opinion of my Grandfather... good times.

Now that you've done your homework (you read it, right?), I can continue on with my Story.

So we're sitting around the dinner table - eating, talking, laughing - when I reached a point where I no longer needed to receive a "Mighty Good" from my grandfather. I have accomplished something far greater and nothing will ever beat that (yes, April - it's EVEN better than him thinking everyone gets married in Cleveland, and the silly grin on his pool-side-climbing face).

Aunt Sylvia began expressing her opinion that my Grandpa was now addicted to Soda, as she poured him another glass.

My father begins explaining, as we all laugh, that she is the one pouring his drink, and thus feeding his addiction.

She comes back with something along the lines of "But Zelma says he loves it. He prefers it, even. He drinks it all the time out there and now he doesn't want anything but that." (Sorry, Sylvie - I dont' remember your exact words)

We're all laughing at this point... and Dad points out, AGAIN, that SHE is the one pouring his drink at the moment.

So I chime in, complete with my dripping sarcasm and half-attempt at a poor southern accent - "He's the one that smokes the marijuana, I just give it to him."

Queue family laughter...

wait for it...

wait for it...

aannnnddd

Queue grandpa laughter!

HIIIILLLARIOUS!! You should've been there. Oh my word. If I could explain it to you, you'd be wetting yourself, right about now. It was tooo funny!

I love my Grandpa... even if he does have to ask McStudly what service branch he's in everytime we go over there, and then proceeds to "promote" him each time, as well.

(If Grandpa was in charge, Kyle'd be a Captain... sometimes it's just easier to say "yes" to his questions then to explain to him the truth by yelling it as loud as you can so he can hear you.)

So - here's to Slater and promotions.

God Bless America.

Mighty Good

My grandfather is a very sweet man. He can't hear very well, and if anyone gets married, he thinks the wedding was in Cleveland, BUT he means well, and he's a big sweetheart (just don't get offended if he called you some random name that sounds like it's from the 60s... his eyes aren't that great, anymore, either). Needless to say, he's gotten pretty "wise" over the years (a nice, friendly way of saying he's gotten old).

You see - Grandpa is currently in town. My Aunt Zelma, whom he now lives with, flew out here with him so that he can stay with our family while she's in Malaysia doing some missions work (or going to a conference... something cool either way). Also, my Aunt Sylvia flew in to help watch Grandpa and see the family again. It's almost become an annual thing (this is only the second year, but I've got a feeling!!).

With that said, I made a few realizations while sitting on my couch with my mother on Sunday. Whatever my Grandpa does, one of my aunts always checks with him. They kind've have to watch him closely because he can't really take care of himself alone, anymore. So if he stands up it's "Where you going, Daddy?" or... "Daddy - it's time to take a nap" or a personal favorite "Daddy, did you go number 1 or number 2?" (BONUS information!!!).


So what were these realizations that I made? I'll tell you:

- You come into this world wearing diapers, you leave this world wearing diapers.
- You come into this world being told what to do, you leave this world being told what to do.
- You come into this world having your food cut up into tiny bits so as not to make you choke - you leave the same way.

My list of these grew quite large, actually... but if you think about it - it's like a full circle!


Well, I tell you all of this to bring you to the title of my blog. Now that you understand a little bit about my Grandfather... let me tell you that he may have trouble hearing or seeing, but the man still enjoys a good meal. He's from the south - keep that in mind for the next part of our story.



Grandpa is what some ammateurs may call a "food critic". He's never mean... but it's like getting that 5th star... you've REALLY got to earn it with him. So whenever anyone cooks, he usually grades them as (and these are in order) "Good", "Pretty Good", or the infamous "Mighty Good". And there's never any confusion... becuase he always says it twice. "Pretty good... pretty good." (I think repeating it is his way of saying "just let me EAT my FOOD, people! You've got your answer, what more do you want from me?!" But that's just my opinion)

Well, I've tried MANY times to get a "Might Good", and even at the desperation of 'word planting', I fail EVERY time! (and YES I can cook... so be nice, people!!) This is usually how the conversation at dinner goes, with Grandpa and a meal that I've cooked:

ME: How is it, Grandpa?

GRANDPA: Pretty Good... Pretty Good.

ME: Is it Mighty Good, Grandpa?

GRANDPA: It's Pretty Good... Pretty Good.

ME: (sad, pouty, failure face)

FAMILY: (uncontrollable bursts of intense laughter)


So last night I get a message on my cell phone from my family. "Hey, Sarah, it's Dad. I just wanted to let you know that I grilled out some Chicken and Steak, tonight..." (this is where I think he's being sweet and inviting me over for dinner, since Kyle usually goes to bed super early when working days... I was wrong) The message continued: "...and I got an unsolicited 'Mighty Good', so... eat your heart out. (insert background of family bursting into laughter, here)"


Now I must admit that I HIGHLY doubt that this 'Mighty Good' was "unsolicited", as he said, but whatever. Even when I solicite them... I get nothing.




Life's not fair.