I want Allyson's dinner.

My dad's parents were born in 1907. Granddaddy died when he was 76 and Grandmama when she was 90. Daddy just turned 71 last month.

My mom's parents were born in 1889 and 1895. Her dad died when he was 62/63 (long before I was born) and G'mama died when she was 90. My mom is 68.

My great-great-grandfather in the direct paternal line lived from 1824 to 1900. He and my great-great-grandmother (his second wife of three, who lived from 1835 or so into the early 1870's IIRC) are the most distant ancestors buried in my childhood church's cemetery.

My parents and grandparents didn't have electricity until sometime around 1950.

Get into great-greats, and it just gets confusing for me, because I swear they're all named Thomas if they're men, and Elizabeth if they're women. Add in a few surnames like Wilson and Jackson, and oy! Disambiguation is hard!

Flashbacks to bad language talk:

Hil - if you studied your Hebrew from the Torah and siddur, you've done great job.

Ha! Shir, I hope you don't mind me laughing -- it's only because that sounds exactly like something I would do!

Of course not! That's one of my better funny "oops" stories. It's just that in Hebrew nail, as a verb, has only one meaning (as in knocking nails with a hammer), and it's one of the sentences I use a lot.

I guess this is another example to the "Why You Can't Translate Directly From Hebrew To English" book, right before "leave me in you mother" (H translation: for the love of God, leave me alone!) and after "talk to me postcards" (H translation: be honest with me) or "end of the road" (H translation: it was a blast!/it really sucked, don't waste your time on it).

Hey. Sudden change of post topic before she'll squeeze it to death. Guess who woke up early today and made banana muffins so this day will be better? whistles

Disambiguation is hard!

But so very necessary.

My paternal grandmother still didn't have internal water or electricity last time I visited her in my pre-teens. They built a separate...thingummy which was kitchen and showers across the way. If you needed to take a crap in the middle of the night in 1981 you had to choose between the chamber pot and wending your way across beastie-infected terrain to hover yer ass over the Satan Pit.

But she loved me more than anyone ever has, so even though we never spoke in any language other than her feeding me all my favourite foods and me stuffing my face...huh, I think I just had an odd breakthrough memory...I never minded making a choice that would normally be tortuous for the erratically prissy girl I was then.

I got post of the week for writing about her at TT. I'm kinda sad now that I remember I've lost the words. But that's all they were.

Ooof. I just lost a message, hitting the wrong button.

ita, that was beautiful to read.

Thanks, Shir. I didn't have grandparent experiences like most people who actually knew theirs--there was always a distance in interaction. But that was just culture, not a measure of love.

I'm up too late. Means bonus Shir, but also bonus grump in the morning. My stomach's trying to con me into eating too. I think it'll win. There's no point having that wee amount of baked beans lying around, and it's not like I can go back to the Thai food that tried to kill me earlier today. Not until tomorrow.

Watching Flashpoint. Intense. I'm hurt that Hugh Dillon in a ballcap looks so much like Richard Dean Anderson, though.

Happy Bastille Day!

Second try to post without hitting any buttons that have nothing to do with posting:

My parents are in their mid 50s and really want a grandchild, especially my dad. Alas, I already told him I don't see myself having children in the foreseeable future (and if my mom will keep watching the "giving birth at home" shows next to me, there might not be any kids in my future at all), and I'm the older daughter. More alas, in the last 3 years or so my dad began to stare and smile at toddlers. He's really enthralled by them and he will be a great grandparent, but right now, it just look creepy. Related to that, I know they're considering being an emergency foster home for short periods of time (not sure what is the term for it).

As for my grandparents... not so much luck. Two died long before I was born, with one we don't speak, and the last but not least... I fond of my grandfather, I really do, but we can talk for 30 seconds after we didn't speak for a year and he'll go "Shir, it was really wonderful to talk to you; Can you please hand over the phone to your father?". He just doesn't know how to be one, I guess, but these sort of things about him really amuse me. I know that he doesn't mean to hurt (and it doesn't hurt me) and that he doesn't mean to be rude - he was raised with twisted aristocratic Austro-Hungarian manners.

Also, forgot to say earlier that baby picsam = awesomeness.

Sends ita banana muffins via the interwebs.

And hey, don't repeat my mistakes! Go to bed!