Hostfind: Another Lame Tool

My grandfather died yesterday. He was in his late 80’s and had lived a good
life, so it’s not tragic or anything…but sad nonetheless. This is especially
true for my grandma who’s been with him day in and day out since he got home
from WWII.

He was an incredible man, in a very classic way for that generation.
Teacher, pastor, high level member of the Lion’s club in his area, golfer.
He was very traditional, having come from a long line of Lutheran religious
men (we’re very German, as it turns out).

The most amazing thing was how perfect he was as a grandfather. He just did
everything right. He taught my father how to build a house. How to garden.
How to raise children. How to cook. How to work on cars. Everything.

They lived in the foothills to the Sierra Nevada mountains, which to us in
the Bay Area was just “the mountains”.
Arnold, to be exact. The place was just perfect, like the movies. We spent
Christmases and Easters there. It was always perfect. TONS of food, little
snacks always lying around, the smells of pine and candles and such. The
sounds of church organs (grandma played the organ).

Grandpa was the coolest. He showed me computers. He gave me my first one,
actually — a Commodore 64. I used to play Dungeon on it. It was one of the
cassette deals. And even then he was regretting that he wouldn’t get to see
what all technology had to offer. It’s ironic, though…I exchanged more email
with him into his 80’s than most of my other family members. He was on top
of things. Reinstalling his own system, troubleshooting software, etc. All
up until just recently when he broke his hip.

Anyway, when we’d come visit he’d always be able to do whatever we were
wanting. My most cherished memory is that of a slignshot. I was obsessed
with them at this particular moment (I was probably 12 or 15 or so), and I
REALLY wanted one. Well, grandpa goes down into his shop. And when I say
shop, I mean like Tim Taylor. Real deal. He grabs a saw and heads out into
the woods with me.

We come to a certain mosquite tree way out in the boonies that has the
perfect “Y” shape on a particular branch. He cuts it down and takes the part
we need, along with most of the rest of it to burn in the fire place. We get
back to the shop and he proceeds to MAKE me a slingshot, FROM SCRATCH.

He notches the wood, gets some high-quality rubber strips for the main
bands, and busts out a sheet of serious, thick leather. He cuts a small,
rectangular piece out, puts the slots in it, and then somehow attaches the
bands to it. In like half an hour I have a very serious, homeade slingshot.
He made some offhand modest comment about it not coming out so bad and sent
me into the woods to do what grandsons do. I swear to you it was awesome.

Then there was the homeade ice cream. And the sledding. He’d make these
strips in the snow during winter for us to race down. Give us mittens,
provide the sleds and snow disks — everything.

And the fishing. He had like 15 poles, and he didn’t fish. They were there
just for us kids. That was their only purpose. He’d rig us up good. Food,
sunblock, extra clothes, bait, all the tackle..and a ride to the local lake.

And he would fall asleep in his chair. Always. So classic. He’d constantly
be awoken by grandma telling him to do something, or if one of us would come
ask something. One moment he’d be smiling and answering or doing or helping,
and the next minute you’d look over and see him peacefully napping. And it’d
be so funny when he’d be getting harped on by grandma. He’d just look at us
like, “Uh oh…” and he’d smile a knowing little smile and either go back to
napping or get up and take care of it.

He was just perfect. I don’t mind that he’s gone…that’s natural…but I want
people to know how great he was. How kind he was. And that he’ll be missed.

Goodbye, grandpa.: