Grandpa Crackerjack

This grandpa was sitting in the row behind me at the Whitecaps baseball game. I discerned his grandpa-ness because the three year old girl sitting on his left, on his right and in his lap kept calling him that. She was very talkative, very active and very in to being a granddaughter.
First came the tri-colored ( pink, yellow and blue) cotton candy. This was the first course on the belly ache special.  Apparently, this is what Grandpas do. Buy junk.
Grandpa: “You aren’t eating any pink.”
Kid: “I don’t like the pink.”
GP: “Did you try it?”
K. “No.”
GP “It tastes just like the others. How do you know you don’t like it?”
K. “I just know”
GP. “I will try it. Mmmmmm.  Tastes good– just like yellow and the blue. Wanna try it?”
K “No.”
They put the lonely pink cotton candy back in the bag and sat it in the empty seat next to me. I asked, “Can I try it?”  Gramps, seeing my plan, says, “Sure.”
I, who hate this spun fiberglass insulation like concoction, take a bite. In complete honesty, I smile and say, “It does taste just like the yellow and the blue. Do you want to try it before it is all gone?” My mind is worried about swallowing a fiberglass product.
The little girl says— what else– “No.”
I turn around….defeated and watch the ball game.  The little girl taps me on the shoulder and says, “You can have the rest.”
This is what it is like to grandparent. My stomach hurts too much right now to tell you about her adventures with caramel corn and peanuts but I will get around to that in the next couple days.


I like poetry and baseball and seldom get the two confused.

There are few things better than Pecan Pie.

There is no “new 40.” …….  or “50”…. or “60” for that matter.

Confusion doesn’t bother me. I kind of like it.

Of all the places I have ever lived, my favorite is waiting for me in the future

I often look forward to forgetting.