I’m at least 50% German. NO I won’t log my DNA in some database to find out. I donate blood so I’m probs already in there but oh well.
But I was just thinking about some of my hilarious genetic traits. And like despite the fact that I truly do come from dirt poor agricultural types (like literally my Grandma, the one I always talk about all the time, grew up painfully poor on a sustenance only farm in rural Wisconsin, she was born in 1918 her dad had wicked bad shell shock, like the WW1 kind. He had a long-standing injury from his time served (some shrapnel to the abdomen that fucked his stomach up) but also a raging drinking problem, and he was popular and people liked him and they’d come out to the farm and be like oh cmon Art and he’d bail and my grandma would be trapped in the tiny farmhouse with her PISSED OFF mother and grandparents. My grandma told me all of this, but just once. Arthur Zimdars. What a name, and my phone autocorrects his last name to Zinfandel and I like to think of he knew what that was he would’ve approved. My Grandma was born November 21, 1918. Her parent married the April of that same year. THAT’S RIGHT, scandalous ass old people, your great granddaughter is here to notice this detail and blog about it in 2019. If their spirits are displeased with the content of my soon to be published book then they should be pleased I’m using a made up last name (it’s the street I grew up on….I know….)
My grandma was working behind the counter at a pharmacy in town. In the 30s. I can’t tell if she was rebellious or independent or just that broke off her ass. She told me once she was sooooo embarrassed because when she was confirmed (Methodist I think, so she 14 or so?) her family didn’t have a car so her dad had to use a horse and buggy to get all of them to church on time. I was like….well Grandma now only rich kids have horses so. She HATED horses. Like was terrified of them. Goes to show exposure isn’t everything. She also haaaaated cornbread. She called it Johnny cake, and I think they lived off of Johnny cake when she was young.
So she’s working at this pharmacy. And this tall, handsome customer just about her age seems like he’s sweet on her, even though he’s engaged to someone else! Guess who that dude was? My grandpa. Mic drop. My Grandma had SO MUCH more game than I ever did at that age. I let boys treat me like shit. But then….idk I think Grandpa had more to do with it than I’m giving credit for. My grandma was a VERY self-effacing woman, talked maaaaaad shit about everyone including herself. They married in his parents living room in January, it was still decorated for Christmas, she wore a navy blue suit. That’s how it was back then. They had three children, one boy in 1945, one in 1951, then my mother in 1958 when Grandma was 40. My husband’s mother was 40 when she had him so it’s a theme in my life.
Her husband died in 1993. I was only 5. I’ll never really know what their relationship was like. I think I have one memory of my Grandpa in their apartment, not laid up in the nursing home he would die in. She never really mentioned him to me. Ever. My mom rarely either. I think maybe my mom was her dads favorite and the middle son was my grandmas favorite and the oldest son was an independent oldest kid who married young and moved relatively far away, considering his parents weren’t the traveling type.
So I wonder if it was their great love for him that kept them silent, or not. I’ll never know. My grandma outlived her spouse by 18 years. I don’t know how I would have ended up without her, so I’m lucky this was the case. I do miss her every day. If thinking about someone every day keeps them alive in the afterlife, I’m at least doing her that solid.
I didn’t go say good bye to her when I had the chance. I didn’t do it because I didn’t believe my dad that she was dying because he ALWAYS said that, and then it was too late and then I never did what you’re supposed to go do even though you don’t want to and you want to remember someone how they were years ago, before their son died and they and their daughter changed fundamentally as human beings.
And I am rationalize it to myself all day. I still feel bad. I still wonder how long that’ll stay as the worst thing I’ve ever done. But then like am I looking to top it? Dear god no.
Then like, the day it happened, I was REALLY strung out on adderall, like baddddd, and my car had a flat tire. So like I didn’t go see my mom or anything. I know how it sounds. Like I was super fucked up on prescription drugs that weren’t mine and it seemed fine. What can I say. Besides that, which is a statement of fact not an excuse.
So. That’s actually a pretty dicked up thing about me. Now you can use that against me. Like you know how all people have those things that too can use to like destroy them? Like it’s not soooo hard to sense what’s the like….soft spot? Weak spot? Jugular? Achilles? Idk I still don’t feel like I’ve nailed it, but like where to slip the knife in, so it’s between bone. That spot. It’s so clear on most people after like 4 minutes of conversation. Well that’s one of mine.
So. I mean the title should have warned too about the weirdness to follow.