Cold coffee and pouring rain. Its one of those quiet Saturday that follows a loud night and my ears are happy for the rest. I've got headphones on even though its not loud at all in here, just the rumba of the bakery below and the buses on the street.
But I put these head phones on for a reason, to hear my family when I called them on the computer a while ago. Everyone, all six who had to travel and the four that are already there are in Austin for my Grandfather's 90th birthday. His eyes are failing and his ears are gone and he mixes up our names but his hair is holding on and he still has the statley, calm passion that brought him down from Canada, to love in UCLA, to community psychology in Austin, his three children, his grandchildren, his neighbors and collegues and freinds. I could not be more proud to have him for a grandfather. His truck, the chinese food, the stories and the jokes and the sourdough pancakes and the stories, those stories, helped me feel safe as a little kid and strong as a big kid. And I know, as a grown-up, when ever it's quiet, I'll hear his voice.
This is my 101th post and I was going to make a big hullaballo about it. But 90 years to 100 little paragraphs about speaking spanish? I think he's got me beat on this one. So happy birthday, Grandpa, Mr. Dr. Ira Iscoe, itinerant homeboy with a spatula in hand. I hope your day is wonderful and that you know how much we love you.
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