Pop Pop’s Coast Guard Cap/Greg’s Air Force Cap

Some things are so hard to write about, that I can actually put it off…for months.  Greg’s Grandfather, affectionately known as “Pop Pop” passed away in early December.  His passing has come with gentle acceptance, mainly because Arlington National Cemetery is not only a very busy place, but also, and I don’t mean this disparagingly, not exactly focused on customer service.  We were notified that his military service would be in February, hence, the trip East, hence getting buried in one of the most famous of East Coast blizzards, hence…the canceling of the funeral.  You might imagine that if a cemetery were to cancel, um, say something as important as a FUNERAL, they might try to get you back on the docket quickly.  With 3 military officers in the family and his wife already buried in Arlington…we are on the top of their list.  For June.  Pop Pop’s military honors are to be conducted in JUNE.  Let’s not complain: Arlington is beautiful in the early summer.  This is America: without a funeral, it doesn’t feel real, so in my heart, it has been a quiet goodbye.

Pop Pop and Sara, Thanksgiving 2005

Simply said, I loved Pop Pop dearly.  He loved me and the girls with such warmth and kindness; and that’s saying a lot for a retired curmudgeon of a Coast Guard Officer whom I met approximately 3 decades after a major stroke.  For the short 7 years I knew him, I was awed by his strength and stubborn will.  Despite having very little faculty on one side of his body and halted speech, he drove, mowed the yard, gardened, and surfed the internet.  He traveled to Italy with the assistance of his grandsons and a sturdy wheelchair.  He once devised a pulley system in his garage, just so he could turn over his lawn mower to repair it.  And when his wife of 65 years passed away, and at 89 years of age, he sold his home in Vermont and got himself a tricked out condo in Virginia.  No joke.  He moved into a beautiful military retirement center, got all new furniture, made new friends, and started a new garden.  Pop Pop had moxie.  Pop Pop was real, his wife was real, and they left an impression on me so deep, that I am changed as a person having known them.  I’ve never met anyone like GG and Pop Pop, and his passing represents not only his movement to heaven, but the loss of “GG and Pop Pop” as an entity: a strength, and a force of life that I found inspiring.

Pop Pop, GG & Sara, Halloween 2005

On our last visit with him, he gently slipped me what he called “his donation to the girls new playroom”.  His eyes were twinkling in a way only his blue eyes could.  What he couldn’t say smoothly with words, he conveyed with the changing color of his eyes.  I hugged him, knowing immediately what his donation would be.  A fireplace!  The entire playroom, while it was a draft in my head, was to be centered around a theoretical fireplace.  It seems no matter what time of day or night you walk into my in-law’s house, Pop Pop could be found sitting next to the fireplace, reading a book, working a puzzle, or watching an old movie.  What was more fitting than to somehow make a kid’s size fireplace and call it “Pop Pop’s fireplace”?  2 weeks later he passed away, a few days after he received my thank you note, making the last words I said to him, “Thank you so much Pop Pop, and I love you.”  Send those thank you notes people.  I have so much peace knowing he got it.

But how?  Where?  You know I had specifics in mind for this thing…where on earth would I find it by Christmas?  JASON!  UNCLE JASON!!!  Of course.  My brother-in-law is an extraordinarily gifted architect.  You should see the custom woodwork at my sister’s home.  Or the hand-tiled backsplash that goes all the way around the kitchen.  Or maybe the picket fence for which he split his own rails.  You know, just for the experience.  With absolutely no notice, Uncle Jason built the fireplace in time for Christmas, and better than I could have ever imagined it to be.

Pop Pop’s Fireplace, Christmas 2009

Pretty wild, yes?  It usually has a couple of stuffed toy cats on the hearth and Sara likes to keep her wind up TV on the first mantel.  They can’t reach the top mantel, so I get to keep that area “Mommy style”.  No fire is needed, because playrooms are for pretend.  I have the childrens’ antique church pew in front of it with the rabbit stool for a foot rest.  I often find the girls just sitting on the “couch” in front of the “fire”, sharing a cup of tea, and chatting about the babies and how they’ll never go to sleep.  I find myself drawn to it as well.  How could your eyes not wander to such a masterpiece?

As I touched up the last bit of paint, I realized what makes handmade items so warm: there is a place for your eyes to rest.  Things that are plastic are not only monotone in color, but they are monotone in texture.  They are…”perfect”, and yet, so imperfect for human consumption.  When your eye comes upon plastic, you may say, “How bright!  How eye-catching!”, but your mind goes to sleep.  There is no place to go.  It’s purely functional, if that.  But as your eyes pass over this fireplace, it must sweep back and forth, resting on details here and there, the movement of color and texture, the linear perfection gifted by the artisan’s skill, and the antique, turn of the century feel it gives you.  You might imagine it in Wendy, Michael and John’s nursery, shortly before Peter Pan sweeps in, looking for his shadow.  Perhaps Beatrix Potter wrote “Mrs. Tiggywinkle” here, after falling asleep in the hills and coming home with a chill.  This rightfully belongs in Jane and Michael’s nursery in “Mary Poppins”.  As luck would have it, this fireplace belongs to 2 little girls named Sara and Kelly.  It’s Pop Pop’s fireplace, and it will be with us always, reminding of us the man that inspired to me to believe 90 years of age isn’t any older than you wish it to be.  Bye bye Pop Pop.  We miss you.  To quote Kelly, “I wub you Pop Pop.  I wub you ma’ dear.”

P.S. For those of you whom have asked if you can get a fireplace, the answer is yes.  Jason does custom work.  Write me at blog [at] gregandlori.com, and I will put you in touch with him.