Memories

Today we buried my grandmother.

In the past three years I’ve eulogized my best friend and his father (my former scoutmaster) and written my grandmother’s obituary. Did a swell job each time, I am told. And I’m proud of the words I shared to enlighten others about those dear to me. But this task is wearisome and I’d rather my talents were exhibited in a happier venue. Then again, to pen the words that relate to friends and family who a loved one was to you is an honor and a legacy not everyone is allowed. 

Granny Buck, left, at her 90th birthday party, with a friend.

You’ll note I am absent from the accompanying photos. My sister swiftly found snapshots of her and Grandma Buck, “Granny” as she was known in my youth, and I haven’t mustered the industry to dig through family albums or my own in search of any more personal keepsakes. So I’ll share a few memories in word form, as is my nature (though I’m no slouch as a photographer, a certain former publisher’s assessment notwithstanding).

So here’s who Granny was to me over the years…

Cookies

More than any other person, including me, Granny is responsible for turning me into the human Cookie Monster. Really, it’s her fault. Ask my parents: Nothing is ever my fault. (Except the punctuation of that sentence. I’m not sure it should have been a colon or if a full stop would be more appropriate – or maybe just a comma. And really, that’s Mr. Krause’s fault for not making it clear to me in Grammar and Composition.) Anyway, like a good dope dealer, Granny got me hooked and made the goodies plentiful.

The Lazy Susan corner cupboard in her kitchen on South Seminary Street was regularly stocked with no fewer than half a dozen varieties of store-bought cookies, kept reasonably fresh (no longer than they lasted) in old coffee tins. There were big flower-shaped sugar cookies with a hole in the middle, Dutch windmill almond cookies, Fig Newtons, Oreos, Nutter Butters, Solerno shortbread butter cookies, the crunchy iced oatmeal kind, Keebler Fudge Stripes and more.

For Christmas and at random times of the year I can’t specifically recall, she baked. There were gingerbread (no offense, Granny, but I prefer Mum’s), peanut butter, cutouts and, the piece de resistance, Granny’s Famous Sugar Cookies. Those devilish delights were light and crispy and decorated with a sprinkle of red or green sugar. I couldn’t get enough of them. I fear I offended her with my exuberant declaration of desire for them.

“Grandma, do you put cocaine in your sugar cookies?” I teased. “Cuz they sure are addictive.”

“What!? No, I don’t put cocaine in my cookies!”

Pancakes for Lunch

Just about everyone’s grandma has a hang-up about feeding the family. Always asking if you’ve had enough, and regardless of your response, insisting you have another helping of mashed potatoes or using you to slight grandpa by forcing the last dab of casserole onto your plate.

Well, Granny figured out my sweet tooth early on and exploited the hell out of it. Besides cookies, she figured I could subsist on sweets in the right form. Enter pancakes. Not necessarily a sweet in themselves, but good ol’ Mrs. Butterworth does the trick. Granny’s not-so-secret pancake recipe was a package of Martha White’s Flap-Stax.

In my early days at The Register-Mail, Dad and I would go to Granny and Grandpa’s nearly every Thursday for lunch. Pancakes were in regular rotation on the menu. And I ate my fill. I think my personal record was a dozen in one sitting. (Hey, they were thin.)

Camper Cookouts

This is but a vague memory, seemingly lost among the rest of my family, but Granny and Grandpa had a pop-up camper for a time when I was young. Dad says they actually took it camping, but never with me in tow. I only remember it parked beside the garage, a silent echo of adventure. But on a couple of occasions I recall Granny cooking burgers for us in the camper and crowding around the tiny pop-up table to chow down.

Melissa shows Granny photos in her digital camera.

The Belscot Incident

Granny didn’t take no guff. And she wasn’t shy about expressing her opinion. My first personal experience came on a shopping trip to Belscot department store on West Fremont Street when I was maybe 7 or 8. I’m totaling guessing at my age. But Granny took me to the beloved Belscot I think to pick out a birthday gift. Seems odd that she didn’t just buy and wrap something, so maybe the gift was just because I was such a great kid. Ya got me.

Anyway, my hazy memory is that we wandered the store and I selected a kick-ass black plastic rifle, lever action like a Winchester Model 73, the classic cowboy carbine. Again, my hazy memory tells me this piece of plastic pleasure was priced at a whopping $9. So Granny goes to write a check for my precious prize and the a-hole at the register informs her they don’t take checks without ID. They must have needed two forms or something (unless, God forbid, she didn’t even have her driver’s license on her!), and she did not. She was fuming mad that she couldn’t buy her grandson the present he’d set his dear little heart on because of their asinine policy and she let them know it.

The details are dim, but I know she was in a huff that day.

Food, Glorious Food

Not only could she bake, but Granny was one hell of a cook. Classic meat loaf, roast, taters, applesauce, vegetable beef barley soup, ham and beans, you name it. Come Thanksgiving, she shined. Aunt Betty and my Mum and later my wife and I and my cousins helped out, but she was queen of the kitchen. She orchestrated it all. Grandpa shepherded the turkey, but Granny was in the details and she was the boss.

It only made sense that I should seek her counsel when it came time to earn my cooking merit badge on the road to Eagle Scout. I was nearing the deadline of my 18^th birthday, so it’s kind of a blur to me now, but she got me through it and I don’t think she let me slide too much. Thanks, Granny.

Granny bathes my sister in the very tub in which I passed out.

The Drunk Tank

So how did I repay Granny’s kindness? Back in the early summer of 1980 I was preparing for high school the way any teenager would – experimenting with pot and booze. Actually, I think I was done with the pot by then, but booze in its many forms was easy to come by. One need look no farther than the kitchen cupboards and the fridge, eh?

Well, one Saturday while the folks were away for the day, I had a buddy over and we decided to see what drinks we could mix with the slim assortment in my house. Unlike the plentiful liquor cabinets some friends’ parents stocked, my house was limited to cheap beer, Jim Beam, brandy and Aunt Betty’s homemade vino.

Well, my pal and I mixed and matched (OK, none of that shit matches, so it was a mixed-up mess o’ trouble) and drank ourselves silly. Buddy boy got outta Dodge while the gettin’ was good. Being a resident of the Buck house, I kinda had to stick around. It seems brandy and Beam and Schlitz and homemade wine aren’t good drinking buddies. Put ‘em all in the same little room – a teenager’s tummy, for example – and they tend to brawl.

My parents were gone and I wasn’t feeling well. I’m no tough guy. Everybody needs his mommy or granny now and then. That was one of those times. I called Granny.

“Grandma, I don’t feel good. Can you come over?”

Being a grandma, there was only one answer. She was on her way. Unfortunately, I didn’t feel well enough to wait up for her. I drew a hot bath and slunk into the tub. I guess I passed out sometime between then and Granny’s arrival. It seems she found me lolled in the tub, unresponsive, and feared I was dead. I paid for the inadvertent ruse. Sometime in there my parents arrived home and eventually I roused enough to begin barfing in the toilet. Seeing as the adults were all downstairs, I was left alone to experience my first drunken retching all alone.

Let me tell you, homemade wine with extras has the hue of blood to the uninitiated. I screamed bloody murder. Well, not murder, but bloody death. For I swore I was vomiting blood. My loving, if irritated, folks rushed up the stairs and soon assured me I was not, in fact, throwing up blood. Later, as I walked it off in the backyard, Dad allowed as how I’d paid a pretty good price for my wayward-ness. I was let off with a week’s grounding and a warning that another incident would cost me my trip to Philmont Scout Ranch.

That is a perfect example of a grandmother’s love, as my sister reminded me at lunch Thursday. No matter how much any of us screwed up, she was always there for us. And now she’s not.

Thanks for the memories, Granny.

p.s. I’m not one to grieve in public, aside from the occasional lovelorn lament on Facebook, but I needed to write. I hope you’ll forgive me this indulgence. Honestly, I don’t deal well with condolences and all that. It feels awkward no matter what; I haven’t even told all my friends. In closing, here is a link to the obituary I wrote and another link to the brief bio I wrote about 13 years ago when Granny, a new permanent resident of the Knox County Nursing Home, was offering her testimony in support of a county tax to support improvements at the nursing home.  

p.p.s. I did run today, in part to legitimize the blog. Then I picked up my race packed for the Run Galesburg Run Half Marathon Express this Sunday and bought my new Mizuno Wave Inspire 9 kicks. The shoes feel great and look awesome in silver, black and orange.

Today's Stats

Temp: 64 degrees F

Distance: 2.85 miles

Weekly Total: 14.55 miles

Treasure: None.

iPod Playlist (Shuffle):

Excitable Boy – Warren Zevon

Don’t Let It End – Styx

Mrs. McGrath (live) – Bruce Springsteen

I’ll Cry Instead – The Beatles

Seven Bridges Road – The Eagles

Angel of Harlem – U2

Til September – The Usual

Doctor Robert – The Beatles

Give Me The Night – George Benson

Brought to You by the Letter N

That’s N, as in “No More Legs, No More Excuses.”

I’ll try to keep this short. You know the story: Sore knee going on months; training schedule off; trying to prepare for my first (and likely only) half marathon, which is this Sunday. In an effort to spare my knee, I’ve been running but once or twice a week, topping out at 5 miles, well shy of a half marathon – 13.1 miles.

Plastic, magnetic "N" found along U.S. 150 between South
Lake Storey Road and the Lincoln Park entrance.

Last week I pushed a little and did 7 miles. Failing to log more than one run since, I decided today I needed a test. I needed to be sure that mentally and physically I am prepared for this. I’ve been plagued of late with some small self-doubt. That can be a killer. I know my body’s weaknesses; my mental state is another matter altogether. My confidence ebbs and flows like the tide, though not at the whim of the moon.

So today was to be a double test. I lack analogy or metaphor to illustrate the gravity of such a situation. Twice last summer I ran upwards of 12 miles, just to prove to myself that I could. Once went well, the second landed me in the emergency room for six hours for severe dehydration and extreme heat exhaustion. That will meddle with one’s mental game. Anyway, I was determined today to do what I could. And the route I’d chosen left few options for shortening, leaving only walking as a possible respite. I was equally determined to not walk except as a last resort. That may have been an ill choice.

As it happened I made it as far as what happened to be 10 miles before I weakened to a walk. While I thought I might walk the rest of the way home, I mustered the fortitude to pick up “running” again near the end (actually just before the 11-mile mark) and finished at a trot. The final measure totaled 11.72 miles, just 1.5 miles shy of a half marathon. It took me about two and a half hours.

Back in my apartment I sipped some more water and lay on the floor on one of my girls’ kindergarten nap mats, ice on my knee, listening to Matchbox Twenty. I felt like IndianaJones on the cargo ship with the Ark of the Covenant as Marion tries to comfort him and she is rebuffed, for her initial efforts result in irritating his bruises. I ached all over. My shoulders were sore. My calves burned. The soles of my feet, particularly my arches, throbbed at the slightest stretch. Not even after my most exhausting hike at Philmont Scout Ranch in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains of northeastern New Mexico did my feet ever hurt so much.

I showered and crawled into bed. An hour later two of my daughters arrived for our dinner date. I whined at every step. It was pouring rain when we left and as we arrived at Acapulco Mexican restaurant. I dropped the girls at the door and parked the car. Surprisingly, I had enough in me to dash to the door, though I didn’t exactly dodge any raindrops. That was a comforting occurrence.

I believe I can do this.

Today's Stats

Temp: 74 degrees F

Distance: 11.72 miles

Weekly Total: 11.72 miles

Treasure: One magnetic letter N (blue plastic)

iPod Playlist (Shuffle):

The Fuse – Bruce Springsteen

American Honey – Lady Antebellum

And Your Bird Can Sing – The Beatles

I’m Feeling You – Santana (feat. Michelle Branch)

Something ‘Bout a Woman – Lady Antebellum

Jack and Diane – John Mellencamp

Waitin’ On a Sunny Day – Bruce Springsteen

Primavera - Santana

Splendid Isolation – Warren Zevon

Piano Man – Billy Joel (Love this video, though it's a different scene than I imagine. And I can't help but think of a group of friends belting out the chorus together.)

Restless – The Usual

There Goes the Fear - Doves

I’d Have You Anytime – George Harrison

I Love You – Avril Lavigne

Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps - Cake

Limelight - Rush

Alone Again (Naturally) – Gilbert O’Sullivan

Goodbye – Avril Lavigne

Tell It To My Heart – Taylor Dayne

Lovesong – The Cure

Everybody Plays theFool – The Main Ingredient

Fireflies – Owl City

Wrapped Around YourFinger – The Police (Wish I'd caught them on their reunion tour - Copeland is indeed amazing. OK, sinceriously, I am floored by his percussion playing.)

If I Fall – Matchbox Twenty

Worrier King (live)– Warren Zevon

You’re the Inspiration - Chicago

Maria Maria – Santana (feat. The Project G&B)

Love Is a Verb – John Mayer

Everyday Is a Winding Road – Sheryl Crow

When Will You Come Back Home – Ryan Adams

She’s a Runner – Billy Squier (BTW: Looking for a runner girl.)

Mothers of the Disappeared – U2

The Promise – When In Rome

One of These Things First – Nick Drake

I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For – U2

Welcome Back – John Sebastian (Who remembers the TV show?)

Poor Poor Pitiful Me – Warren Zevon

Lawyers, Guns and Money – Warren Zevon

MacGillycuddy’s Reeks – Warren Zevon

Ding-dong, Avon calling

I really stepped out today. As I’ve noted before, you don’t know your limits until you push them. I don’t know that I pushed mine today, but I forced myself into a longer run because I headed out of town to the south, which means a minimum 6 miles. I added a detour I avoided once before (backtrack for a third bridge) and bagged a full 7 miles. Next time I hope I’ll push farther and hit 8 or 9. I have an idea how to do it. By that I mean I know what I need to do to the same route to add the necessary miles, which I’ve done before.

The thing is, I’m a week and a half away from my half marathon and I’ve not followed any kind of training regimen. I intended to. I had one sent to me by a friend. I had my own idea, too. But my nagging knee negated both. Add to that a general state of dysfunction and disarray in my life and a chronic lack of motivation and you’ve got a recipe for failure. But failure is not an option. I will succeed in this. I am woefully lacking in willpower in many areas of my life (daily schedule, housekeeping, diet, exercise, finances, to name a few), but I have this gut feeling that willpower will carry me through this endeavor.

Not that I’m gonna totally slack off and show up Sunday morning, June 2, and expect my body to listen to my mind. Oh, the muscles, bones, ligaments, joints and all will have some preparation. Maybe not all they deserve, but it ain’t gonna be no pop quiz.

Beyond physical preparation, I have prepared my gear a little. Last week I picked up my Team Acapulco shirt for the Run Galesburg Run event during lunch at the restaurant. For the advertising (cuz I’m a star runner) I received the shirt and half my registration fee paid by the restaurant. Lemme tell you, beyond the shirt, I’ll plug the restaurant anytime: Great food and great service. I love the place. Proprietor Elvith Santoyo is wonderful and she is doing the half marathon, too. Given that she’s half my age I reckon she’ll do much better. But we’re on the same team, so props to us all. Can’t wait to meet the rest of the Acapulco runners.

The shirt has a cool slogan printed on the front and race info and logo on the back and it’s a neon yellow/green. That’s awesome because aside from my Nathan reflective vest I have no high-visibility running apparel. Somebody will be sure to spot my motionless form in even the most overgrown ditch come race day.

I also decided to try out my hydration belt for the first time today. I knew I was going to do a longer run than usual and it might be a bit warm (actually only reached 77, but that’s warm when there’s no shade). After last summer’s E.R. visit at the conclusion of a 12.5-mile run in 80-degree heat, I asked for the hydration belt on my Christmas wish list. D3 Melissa came through for me and I thank her. It’s a weird feeling to have that water bottle bobbin’ up and down on one’s right kidney. But it wasn’t annoying and I appreciated the fluids along my route. The belt has a handy pocket for keys, too.

One piece of gear remains: new shoes. I’ll stop in at Go Outside and Play Running Co. this week and buy the latest Mizuno Wave Inspires (this year’s edition of the shoes I wear now). They’re a pretty penny, but they’ll help, and I love those shoes! I think this year’s model uses orange for an accent color, which is a DenverBroncos color, so hey!

As noted previously, I’ve not been treasure hunting on my runs during “training.” But my eye was drawn to a white sign curled on the western side of the W.C. Jackson Bridge near the end of my run. I backtracked after initially ignoring it, figuring I might need something to write about since my current writing project isn’t yet ready for public consumption. It turned out to be a magnetic sign for Avon products, the kind a local seller will place on his/her car. 

Makes a great refrigerator magnet!

The sign touts Avon products and bears the local rep’s phone number, but included in equally large type the words “Tiny Tillia.” What the H is that, I thought? Well, here’s what it is:

Transporting families to a whimsical world of wonder, Tiny Tillia adds fanciful fun to mom and baby’s daily routine. The Tiny Tillia collection features toys, bath and clothing products for baby as well as beauty must-haves and accessories for mom. Originally sparked by a mother's love for her children, the line even includes a lovable cast of characters. To learn more about Tiny Tillia, visit tinytillia.com.

Check it out at your own risk. I think babies are happy with cardboard boxes and wrapping paper; save your money.

Today's Stats

Temp: 75-77 degrees F

Distance: 7 miles

Weekly Total: 7 miles

Treasure: Avon magnetic sign (for automobile display).

iPod Playlist (Shuffle):

I Don’t Wanna – The Call

Changes - Yes

Paradise – Bruce Springsteen

Prove Your Love – Taylor Dayne

Turnaround (Studio Version) – Robert Plant

You Won’t Be Mine – Matchbox Twenty

Wish You Were Here – Avril Lavigne

Glad Tidings – Van Morrison

Come Sail Away - Styx

I Will – Matchbox Twenty (Gonna see these guys again in July!)

Heartbreak Warfare – John Mayer

I Me Mine – The Beatles

Argue – Matchbox Twenty

Bonus – C+C Music Factory

I Still Haven’t FoundWhat I’m Looking For – U2

Hearts - Yes