Thoughts

Lots of random thoughts swirling around in my head. I am almost done with the Hunger Games trilogy. People keep saying the last book is such a disappointment and I am half way through and still not seeing it. I never feel the same way about books that other people do. But I do have this strange tendency. Whenever I am reading a book I tend to take on the mood of it. Especially when I am really immersed. The dialogue in my head has taken on a Hunger Games edge. It makes me a little moody. I need to finish it all up so I can be myself again.

What else? I am missing my Grandma. It is a random thing. I was trying to find a recipe to make for dinner tonight, looking through all the old favorites. And I came across one that she had hand written for me when I got married. I teared up at the sight of it. I read through it all and then read it again. It made me feel like she was still here, at least a little part of her. And I missed her. The deep down kind of ache that comes on so suddenly it takes your breath away. I missed her touch and the way she smelled and her house and my childhood all at once. Her house was my favorite house, more favorite than my own. She and my Grandpa lived in a little town in Washington, 5 hours away from Portland. We went there often. All of our trips have blurred together for me now. But I remember pieces. I remember the way I felt when we finally pulled into their driveway. They would be there, waiting on the porch swing, somehow knowing the precise moment we would arrive. It never occurred to me that they had been there waiting for hours. But there they were. There were kisses and soft papery skin that smelled like perfume and powder. There was the sidewalk in the back, lined with the hand prints of me and all of my cousins. My hand didn't fit inside of it anymore, I couldn't believe I had ever been so small. The garden along that path full of tomatoes that we would cut and eat sprinkled with salt and pepper. They were the only tomatoes I ever ate as a child. There was the fountain inside the fence that made the house feel fancy even though it really wasn't. At least not fancy in that kind of way. It was fancy in my Grandma's way. Full of memories and pictures and old toys and juice glasses and cookie jars. All the things that made up their house were a part of them. I loved it there. I loved being there with my brother and my cousins. I loved going to the river and walking the dike and boating and eating croissant sandwiches. I loved the smell of the boxwood bushes in the front yard and the driveway that was perfect for roller skating. It was a place. But it was also my Grandma. Her hand print was everywhere, all over the sun room and the kitchen and her bathroom. All the places I loved, I loved because they were her. And she is not here anymore. And all the sudden that makes me sad.

*It is now 2:00 am and I finished Mockingjay. It is not as good as it could have been and better than I was expecting it to be. And I am relieved that it is all over. And I wish I could write something that good. The end.