My Father's Shoes

Last night I had dinner at my grandparent's house. My whole family (all of the unmarried parts, at any rate) was there, as well as two of my aunts and an uncle. We also had another close friend of the family, and it ended up being rather a party-like situation. But then, of course, we got sidetracked (long story) and started reading poetry. Not like Robert Frost-type poetry, but poetry my aunt has written.

All was going well until we had my dad read a poem called "My Father's Shoes." It's a poem my aunt had written for one of my grandpa's birthdays, and it was just one of those poignant poems that make you cry, because my grandpa's health is failing, and it was just that kind of poem. Well, we didn't all cry. My aunts and dad did, along with my mom and my grandpa. But my grandma? She was in one of those jovial moods and would not be deterred. Every time someone shed a tear, she made a joke. When my grandpa started telling a story about one time when he thought my aunt (the poem-writing one) had died (she was little and swallowed something sharp), he was in tears and my grandma was just serenely saying, "Well, I never saw him cry so much. He really thought you were dead." and just carry on eating like it was no big deal.

Honestly, it was hilarious.

As badly as I felt for those shedding tears, the dynamic between the all of them was just so funny. And there was no way to sober my grandma up. When my grandpa told this story about some girl who held her little sister in her arms as she breathed her last (he was in this weird let's-talk-about-sad-things mood), I asked when that was, meaning how long ago. My grandma just goes, "When? It was when she died!" And that was that. I couldn't even pretend to be solemn any longer.

But it was sort of sad. How many more times will my family be sitting around like that? Even my immediate family is at risk of changing, due to the increasing ages of those of us not as yet married. So, even though I took sides with my grandma and we just laughed our way through dinner, I wasn't quite as jovial as she.

All good things must come to an end though. Except Heaven. That's one good thing we can all count on lasting for, well, an eternity!

Wing to Wing, Oar to Oar

I found this poem the other day and thought it was cool. As much as I profess to dislike poetry, I think it's mostly a partial truth to cover up that I can't write it myself.

The Master Speed by Robert Frost

No speed of wind or water rushing by
But you have speed far greater. You can climb
Back up a stream of radiance to the sky,
And back through history up the stream of time.
And you were given this swiftness, not for haste
Nor chiefly that you may go where you will,
But in the rush of everything to waste,
That you may have the power of standing still-
Off any still or moving thing you say.
Two such as you with such a master speed
Cannot be parted nor be swept away
From one another once you are agreed
That life is only life forevermore
Together wing to wing and oar to oar