Grandpa Gant

I didn't ever get the chance to meet my Dad's Dad.

I do know a couple things about him, though.

One: He was shot in the side during WWII. The bullet traveled through his backpack, the pot of beans that would have been his lunch, and his body before exiting out his front.

Two: His job in the military meant that the Gant family had to move around-- a lot. One of my Dad's brothers was born in Germany. The family lived in the Philippines for awhile. My Dad, the youngest, actually got the best deal of the bunch, and lived in Oklahoma for all of junior high and high school.

Three: He died when my Dad was 23. That's not much older than me now. I can't imagine.

Four: He looks dashing in these photos. I love old photos.

My favorite of the bunch is the shot of him in Korea, overlooking the rolling hills. He looks morosely contemplative. What was he thinking of? His family? The war? Was he weary or invigorated? Hungry or full? Ready to face the challenges undoubtedly presented to him or not?

I write this blog (occasionally, I do admit) so my grandchildren can someday know what I was thinking.

I think my Grammy Gant looks especially beautiful in this picture.

Photos

United Steak of America
I actually laughed out loud when I saw this.
I love that red meat is so quintessential American too.
Next time I buy a steak, I know I'll be tempted to carve it into something.

The post accompanying this photo said they spent $1000 on twinkle lights.
I heart twinkle lights.
I heart this picture.
I feel as if it is documenting my own, personal heaven of sorts.

Abraham, Queen Elizabeth II, and bodiless emails

My mom sent me an email yesterday that read "You need a picture of Abraham on your blog" in the subject line.

I remember the first time my mom sent me a subject line email. I was terribly confused. I ransacked the page, looking for more text. Where is the body of the email? I wondered as I knit my brow.

She says its efficient.

I say its impersonal.

She says it gets straight to the point.

I say it makes people feel like their response doesn't matter.

She sends me subject line emails all the time.

I send her subject line emails back.

Anyway... this is one of my corgis. Abraham.

I'm going to make another universal statement (I established last week that sunflowers were undoubtedly the best flower). I think more people will take issue with this statement than the one about the flowers.

Corgis are the cutest dogs in the world.


You might disagree, but I have royalty on my side.

THE failure

I am no longer cleansing.

Officially, as of a Subway sandwich for dinner last night. It was delicious. Heavenly. Inspired. Ham on honey wheat with lettuce, tomato, pickles, cucumber, and green peppers. I continued to chew even after I swallowed, relishing the simple joy of the everyday action.

I ate the other half for breakfast this morning ($5 footlongs). It was delicious, heavenly, and inspired all over again.

Colors are brighter, smells are more pronounced, and the sun shines brighter when you eat.

Lesson learned. Next time I say I want to do THE cleanse (which, if I'm a creature of habit, will be in about six months), yell and scream and kick "NO!". Then give me a cupcake. Or TCBY. Or a Subway sandwich.

I'm on the cleanse...

... you know? THE cleanse?

Have you seen that episode of The Office? I think it is the first episode of Season 5. Kelly is on THE cleanse-- and faints.

It is also called the lemonade diet. Basically, I drink a mixture of lemon juice, maple syrup, cayenne pepper, and water. 2 liters a day. Doesn't sound so bad-- right?

Well, I don't eat either. Nothing. Nada. Rien.

I miss chewing.

My last meal was Sunday dinner. It is now Wednesday at 2:13 and I'm proud to say I have yet to faint. Actually, I have yet to really feel like fainting.

Everytime I'm hungry, I swig my lemonade, and surprisingly, the craving subsides.

I tried THE cleanse last December. I lasted two days. I blamed the stress of studying and homework on my lack of finish. Heck, I didn't even come close, as the recommended MINIMUM is 10 days. Apparently, a person can go up to 40 days without eating no problem.

Not me. I'm not Jesus [insert obvious "duhhhhh"].

I've already lasted longer than last time, and I'm feeling better than last time. These all seem like reassuring signs to me.

But, I miss chewing.

My boyfriend is a firefighter

And I just like to tell people that sometimes.

He volunteers at Quogue Fire Department open houses, serving hot dogs to the young masses with a smile on his face... in the pouring rain.

Well, at least he did last Sunday. Maybe he wasn't smiling the whole time. Maybe he insisted I put away the camera after I quickly snagged this singular photo. And maybe, just maybe... I left after only 30 minutes, 3 clams, and 1 ice cream cone because my feet were beginning to prune from the downpour.

Unfortunately, the weather meant the department didn't raise as much money as it did last year, when the sun smiled upon the young-ens as they rode around in the department's signature yellow truck and frolocked on a moon bounce.

I'm just proud to say my intake of junk has significantly decreased from the monumental 7 clams, 1.5 hot dogs, 1 bag of popcorn, and 1 ice cream cone of last year.

Without argument, the best flower on God's green earth is...

The sunflower.

They never fail to make me smile.