I find myself wishing now, as an adult, that I had been a more faithful journal keeper in my youth. Unfortunately, most of the memories that I committed to paper were of times when I was either angry, sad, or confused. My journal, now hidden away yet close by should I need it, is an emotional roller coaster that details times past. I do so regret not having chronicled the happy times now as well. Yes, pictures do help to spark memories, and I have plenty of those. They say that a picture is worth a thousand words; however, to me few things bring back a time more vividly than when I read what my pen has put to paper.
My grandfather is still alive. This is the amazing miracle of which I spoke several posts ago. He may not make it to see Natalie, but now there is hope where there was little to none before. With the threat of his impending departure to glory, I have been dusting off old memories of times shared. In all honesty, I have been hoarding thoughts of our precious times together because they make me happy. They make me praise God for giving me so many wonderful things to hold in my heart. I just wish that I had written them down so that it would not be such a struggle to recall all of them now.
One of my favorite memories surprise me because it was neither very spectacular nor should it have been very memorable. For some reason, though, it stands out.
Poppop had an old, blue truck. The seat inside felt like vinyl and had decorative little holes along the fabric. Odors of grass mixed with Drakkar cologne would fill my nostrils whenever I rode inside the cab next to him. It was not a particularly comfortable vehicle, but it was Poppop's truck. (And yes, I cried when he sold it a few years ago and traded it in for a more modern truck)
One day when I was very young, we went for a little drive in the truck. If I remember correctly, we were either sneaking away from Mommom or she was out running errands. Regardless, she would not have approved of our little outing. Why? Because Poppop stopped for ice cream and THAT would have spoiled our dinner. We sat in that old cab eating our little treat in total contentment as we drove along.
That's it. That's all that I remember. As I stated at the outset--it's not much. However, when I think of that time, I have trouble remembering a happier, more carefree moment spent with my grandfather.
My grandfather is still alive. This is the amazing miracle of which I spoke several posts ago. He may not make it to see Natalie, but now there is hope where there was little to none before. With the threat of his impending departure to glory, I have been dusting off old memories of times shared. In all honesty, I have been hoarding thoughts of our precious times together because they make me happy. They make me praise God for giving me so many wonderful things to hold in my heart. I just wish that I had written them down so that it would not be such a struggle to recall all of them now.
One of my favorite memories surprise me because it was neither very spectacular nor should it have been very memorable. For some reason, though, it stands out.
Poppop had an old, blue truck. The seat inside felt like vinyl and had decorative little holes along the fabric. Odors of grass mixed with Drakkar cologne would fill my nostrils whenever I rode inside the cab next to him. It was not a particularly comfortable vehicle, but it was Poppop's truck. (And yes, I cried when he sold it a few years ago and traded it in for a more modern truck)
One day when I was very young, we went for a little drive in the truck. If I remember correctly, we were either sneaking away from Mommom or she was out running errands. Regardless, she would not have approved of our little outing. Why? Because Poppop stopped for ice cream and THAT would have spoiled our dinner. We sat in that old cab eating our little treat in total contentment as we drove along.
That's it. That's all that I remember. As I stated at the outset--it's not much. However, when I think of that time, I have trouble remembering a happier, more carefree moment spent with my grandfather.
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