Grandpa Jerry: A Remembrance

Amidst a week of midterms, class projects, Steinbeckian novels, and part-time (but really more hours than any college-student could ever function with) employment training, my grandfather, Jerry Hilstein, passed away.

It wasn’t a complete shock. We received message that hospice had taken over and that any day Grandpa Jerry would move on to another world. The next morning he was gone.

A crazy week ends and I’m finally able to process my grandfather’s death.

So I’ll try my best for an obituary or eulogy. Me and him were never very close, to be honest. I have a handful of memories, all good, but just a handful. This year I lived in California (where I’m originally from) for a six-month internship while awaiting to start University of Rochester.

I worked for my uncle, Jerry’s son, and Jerry lived in the area. My grandfather suffered a heart attack, and we knew things were spiraling down. The good news, for me at least, was that I was around and got to know him a little better, if even just a little.


Matlock, The Angel of Death

Since last week’s wetsuit incident, I’ve been thinking about my failing youth. A good friend once told me that getting old is a process of many realizations. The first and most important, is understanding that the world doesn’t revolve around you.

I would amend this statement by saying hurting your back is definitely the first sign.

Have you ever pulled a muscle in your back? Geez. It’s terrible. You have to buy heat/ice packs and think about what type of shoes you’re wearing.

Andy Griffith and Carol Huston star in Matlock.Just put on Matlock already; I’m done. Count me out.

Getting Older

We were at a small group last night, and one of the couple’s kids starting spinning in the middle of the floor. He thought we were all there to watch him.

It made me think about my friend’s statement—the one at the top.

I used to be like that kid. Everybody used to be my audience and I’d always have the floor. What’s changed?

Is it my understanding of adult civility, a mellowing out of my extroverted nature, is it something else?

Getting old has it’s privileges. I’ve talked to many people about it. There was one lady I got to know at my old job in Idaho. She claimed she didn’t feel comfortable in her own skin until she turned 50.

That’s cool, I guess.

Wife Proverbs

Yesterday Megan and I walked to the end of the Avila Beach pier. As usual, I complained about everything. My back. How I couldn’t boogie board anymore. My world was over.

She said, “You know, the world doesn’t end just because you can’t do something.”

She was right, as usual. The world doesn’t revolve around me. I’m getting older.

I suppose there’s nothing I can do about it but enjoy the ride. Enjoy each day I have, hurt back or not.

Sometimes though, I’m selfish and I want to be young again. Not a teenager, not even 21. I want to be 6 or 7. I want to be back at that place; the place where I’m spinning in front of the room. Where everyone is looking at me. They didn’t come to see me, but now they are.


From the Avila Beach Pier

Would that be so bad?

As usual, I’d love to hear some feedback. Any advice on getting older? Any advice on pulled backs? A good Matlock episode?