Wild Packs of Family Dogs, Modest Mouse

When I was going to school in Los Angeles, I would visit my Grandparents in Woodland hills as often as I could. Unfortunately, without a car in Los Angeles, it can sometimes be very difficult to make it out to the valley. It was always great when my parents would come down and take me out to the valley for a home cooked meal and a time to escape hectic school life.

We came down here yesterday for Thanksgiving, and while I am not an "LA person" (whatever that means), it's nice. Well, except for the noise. My Grandpa is bordering on deaf - and he never wears his hearing aids. The TV is always on, even though neither can hear it, and the volume is on full blast. I am partial to having background noise, usually music, but the levels are very rarely loud, unless I'm getting ready to go out, or just need to drown out other noise. Or unless the music is really, really good.

And, on top of all of that, there's adding in family and all that that entails. My family is loud and we have a tendency to talk over each other. But for anyone who has observed my family, you know: out of the noise comes some hilarious life commentary, mostly from my 80 year old grandfather. For longtime readers, you know about the time my grandparents compared their arms to bird wings, flapping them at the table. To those on my facebook probably read the "blow gun" comment. My grandfather is a hilarious man, and the funniest comments are often muttered under his breath to the person sitting beside him, shouting in his right ear so he can best hear.

Last night, my Grandfather, a man who has never fully understood my longtime desire to be in the Peace Corps, had me sit next to him as we spoke about going to Panama. My initial nomination was for Africa, a prospect that terrified and confused my grandparents (on my mother's side), so going to Latin America (not safe by their standards - then again, they'd have me live in a city for safety) is a welcome surprise. He told me he was glad he would not have to buy me a gun for Christmas, only a machete. I would have to learn how to build a poison dart gun out of a bamboo pole, and how to make my own poison darts. He recommends poison dart frogs. At this point in the conversation, my beloved puppy bear (Callie - an Australian Shepherd), came up and stuck her head to be petted. Grandpa said to me, suddenly serious: "What are you going to do about a pet?"

I replied, in his serious tone, "I'll get a monkey. And I'll name him Chester." After my Grandpa.

He said, again serious, "Good. It's about time a child is named after me." He smiled. Oh man. He knows I'm never naming a child Chester.

My grandmother is not without her humor, but hers is a different kind. With a deaf husband and all her kids and grandkids away from her, she gets lonely. So when we come down to see her, she cannot stop talking. She keeps the TV on, talks over it and asks me technology questions, not understanding the answers. She's enthralled by my computer and my phone (it has a camera!) and she devours the gossip magazines my mom brings down for her.

Ruing my Grandpa's health, Grandma said, "He can't hear, he can't see, and when that happens, you're in deep shit!" (As she ages, she gets more and more of a potty mouth - I love teasing her about it.)

My mom, in reply said, "Yeah, you're Helen Keller!"

While watching TV, she saw a preview for the evening news. "Engagement Chicken!" it proclaimed. She turns to me and says, "Now why didn't they have that when I was your age!" We looked up the recipe on my computer as I pirate the internet from her neighbor (we have his permission) (it's just roasted chicken).

My grandparents are comical creatures, and this extends to when Callie visits her grandparents. They have not had an animal for years - their cat Siggy gave a coyote terrible indigestion a long time ago - and I think the idea of having their own animal intimidates them. However, when both think that no one is paying attention, they vie for the attention of the pup. Grandma wants to cuddle, Grandpa talks to her when he thinks no one can hear him.

My cousins had a dog, a big, black lab, and Grandpa would have long conversations with this dog. He identified with this dog, and soon before the dog died of a cancer type illness, Grandpa sat and shared (figuratively) a glass of wine with Lou. My Aunt loves telling this story, about how Grandpa stared into Lou's eyes, and said, "You are true blue, one of a kind, you big mother fucker."

I love my family.