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scamdog

Member Since 2002

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Saturday Jul 27, 2002

Jul 27, 2002
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Saturday, July 27th, 2002, 4:00pm

I'm sitting on the back porch of my grandfather's house in Kentfield. My grandfather sits just in front of me, dozing. It's a lovely day, and we have just finished eating cucumber sandwiches. The Mediterranean cucumbers were a gift from an associate at work, and although not quite as good as the ones he eats when he visits home, so he says, they are still very tasty and much less work than the cucumbers I'm familiar with in that they dont need to be peeled. In addition to the cucumbers, red bell peppers and romaine lettuce from Papa's fridge adorned the bread smeared with plain, whole-milk yogurt. I needed two hands to contain and consume an assembly identical to the one my grandfather had to eat with one (his left hand fell out of use along with most of the left side of his body when he had the stroke back in '89), but we both ate with gusto.

When I was little, my grandfather taught me how to ride a bike. He'd get me on the thing, push me across the yard, come and collect me and the bike from the bushes, sit me back down on it, and push me across the yard again and again until I finally got it.

Now, I lead him around by the hand as he steps unsteadily from the bedroom to the living room. It's strange how things change.

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