| Listen. |
[Dec. 27th, 2007|05:35 am] |
My mom is dead, my dad's gone crazy, college is finishing, i have until march to plan on how to live in another country for a few months, my future is looming ominously, and my past is catching up to me.
I have no idea what's going on or what to do about it.
I do know, that my girlfriend made me sandwiches for Christmas.
a basket full of them.
and not a single one of you out there can ever possibly comprehend just how important that is.
i'm going to california for a while.
peace out. |
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| FACT: |
[Dec. 16th, 2007|08:47 pm] |
Small boys are more ticklish while up in the air.
That is all. |
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| Howl, Howl, Howl! |
[Nov. 26th, 2007|10:52 am] |
seriously.
someone find my digital camera.
oh god. |
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| Now THAT'S comedy... |
[Oct. 2nd, 2007|07:05 pm] |
remember that time i dragged my girlfriend off a rocky cliff into the colorado river?
...and she landed like this? |
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| Relocating |
[Jun. 12th, 2007|05:47 pm] |
Summary:
roadtrip was fantastic,
but i left my camera in wisconsin.
it's on its way back to me. theoretically. but who knows.
montana was great. all of the states were great. i think the final count was like, 18 states or something?
accidentally went to the grand canyon.
camera was still in wisconsin.
otherwise you'd see pictures of me and Jill in vegas. Hah.
leaving tomorrow for camp, will be working there for like three months or so.
my address is going to be,
Bob Grant
29 pleasant grove road
port murray, NJ 07865 |
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| By Popular Demand |
[May. 6th, 2007|04:48 pm] |
| [ | music |
| | Eulogy - Five Iron Frenzy | ] |
Everything negative I’ve ever heard about the death of a loved one comes from either Loss, or Regret. And the Regret I can understand. It’s all too easy in a busy world to lose touch with someone close to you, and when they’re gone, you realize only too late that you forgot to say what you needed to say, or that you weren’t with them in their time of need.
But I’m a lucky boy. The last words I said to my mother, while she was awake and talking to me on the phone, were “I Love You.” And less than a day later I was at her bedside, holding her hand. I told her jokes and shared my iPod with her and played songs I knew she’d recognize. I prayed over her and told her all about my week. Lack of closure can crush a person, but I’m fortunate enough to say that I was right where I needed to be. The one regret I do have, is one thing mom always asked me for that I kept putting off. My momma would say, “Bobby, I heard more stories about you speaking at a youth retreat. I want to see it myself!” And I would say, “Don’t worry, mom, you’ll get to.” I’d wanted to speak in front of people for a real long time, and when I finally achieved my goal, mom was so proud of me. But she never got to see me preach herself. So mom, this one’s for you.
The reason that Loss hurts is because what you once Had, carried value. At the risk of sounding cliché, I’ll point out that we should focus here on the virtues and accomplishments of Susan O’Brien Grant, that most incredible of women, that champion of the self-conscious and sad. She was beautiful, and intelligent, and kind, but a fierce enemy to those who threatened the ones she loved. Having been so close to her, having seen her in action, I can walk forward with confidence knowing that there is nothing on this planet more terrifying than an Irish mother protecting her family. And for everyone who knew my mother, I scarcely need to point out that her family extended far beyond those related to her by blood. They say that the true measure of a man is the people who love him, and in my mother’s case, we can start off by counting the people who permanently referred to her as Momma Grant.
I used to complain, when I was little, that my friends liked my mom more than they liked me. I used to yell at mom for coming to my school and winning everyone over, so that she was more popular than I was. Of course, I was only jealous; I should have been proud. I’ll never forget the day at Moorestown Friends when a girl I’d never spoken to in my life walked up to me in the halls and said, “Your mother is absolutely amazing! She did my makeup for the play, and I think she’s the most incredible lady!” Anywhere we went together, we’d have to fight for time keeping the attention of the crowd that gathered. I would inform my mother that people only talked to me because I was related to her, and my mother would fire right back that people only liked her because she was related to me. We had this argument numerous times, trying to figure out whose fault it was that our household was so popular.
Poor dad. He’s pretty cool too.
My mother heaped devotion and love and pride on me, never missing an opportunity to boost my confidence and tell me I was a great kid. But the truth is, looking back, I can only step aside and stare in awe at the total expanse of my mom’s accomplishments. Everyone she came in contact with walked away glowing. She had this incredible way of walking into a crowded room, finding the one person who really needed a friend that day, and shifting the whole world to meet that person’s needs. She’d steer the whole crowd, everyone enjoying themselves and loving every minute of it, but those of us who really knew her could always recognize that glint in her eye, that secret little smile, the one that said “We both know this is for you.” She knew how to make a person feel special. She could make anyone feel beautiful, and never let anyone believe that they were anything less than extraordinary. She taught us how to stick to our beliefs, get over our mistakes, and never settle for less.
My favorite face of my mothers, however, wasn’t that secret gift face. It was close, but not the same. It was that sneaky, guilty, oops-you-caught-me grin that she’d get after she’d weaseled her way into a problem you were having and tried to fix it all by herself behind the scenes. And worse, she was good at it! Suddenly you’d notice that things were going your way when they hadn’t before, and it would dawn on you that your luck had changed right after you’d unloaded your burdens on my mother’s patient and understanding shoulders. You’d instantly open up to her, because she had that aura of trustworthiness. And as soon as you’d finished venting, and she’d finished comforting you, she’d bustle off to who-knows-where, and before you knew it, your boss had given you that promotion, that horrible mess had gotten cleaned up, that creepy ex-boyfriend had been run over by a mysterious Honda. And you’d get that suspicion that my mom had somehow been involved. And then, caught up in the crowd of people congratulating you on your newfound success, you’d see my mom in the background, catching your eye and grinning that grin. Oh, never doubt for a second that she knew how good she was.
My mother and I had a tendency to fight. I’ve spent more time in childhood than I can possibly recount, complaining to my friends about how much my mom tried to meddle with things. It drove me insane, until I finally realized that the passion that guided her was the single-minded devotion to improving the lives of others, even when they can’t see it- that goofy and lovable capacity to make things spectacularly more complicated than they EVER needed to be, just before making them better, that can only be accomplished by the truly good of heart. One thing is for sure. Living with mom was never boring.
Her many talents would’ve made her a legend even if they hadn’t been backed up by a heart of gold. She knew how to do pretty much everything, and if she couldn’t, she could get a hold of someone who could. She made me a giraffe costume for a parade in elementary school, that towered twice my actual height. She could make a teenager look like a bald and decrepit old man, or a fortune telling machine, or a candlestick. She could make feathered hats and beaded necklaces, and even though she couldn’t tell a joke, she could get anyone laughing. She knew everything about everyone, and never forgot. Well, aside from the fact that I hate potatoes, which she never seemed to stop offering me at every possible meal. Although personally, I suspect that this wasn’t so much forgetfulness, as Mom hoping against hope that I’d change my tastes and start loving potatoes like a respectable Irish son. No dice, momma. More for you.
But that’s just as well, because we’d long since figured out that if we didn’t pass Mom the bowl of mashed potatoes LAST at a family dinner, nobody else would ever see them again.
But that’s okay. Because she deserved every last one of them.
At the viewing last night, I stood there for three hours shaking hands and hugging an endless stream of people coming to pay their respects to my mom, out of love for her and her influence on the family she glued together. That’s the loss that hurts. She is a famous woman, a mighty woman; a woman who raised a son and trained a husband, as best as she possibly could. Today I celebrate the life of the best mother a boy could ever have. Today, at the end of a long and spectacular life full of generosity and affection, a life whose impact is clearly visible through the overwhelming numbers of people that have come to give their regards, I call all of you to spread the ripples. Keep the legacy of her kindness and good humor alive, turn the ripples into waves, fuel them with her memory and multiply them by acting out the goodness she instilled in all of your hearts. Impact the lives of everyone around you the way she taught you to, and keep the waves spreading until on every distant shore, when they crash down, people will wonder about what caused them in the first place; that mighty rock in the middle of the ocean, the soul of Momma Grant. Tell her stories and smile her smile. And never look back. Because my momma is a legend. And legends never die. |
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| Directions |
[May. 3rd, 2007|01:36 am] |
To Healey's Funeral Home,
from North Jersey via 295.
Take 295 south to exit 29.
At the base of the exit, make a left at the stopsign.
Continue under the overpass to the stoplight. This is route 30, White Horse Pike.
Make a Right onto White Horse pike.
Continue on White Horse Pike until you see the light for Station Avenue. This is your warning that the funeral home is approaching soon. It will be on your Right, just before the next stoplight, King's Highway.
If you cross King's Highway, you've gone too far.
from South Jersey via 295.
Take 295 North to exit 28B.
The exit will drop you onto Route 30 West, White Horse Pike.
Continue on White Horse Pike until you see the light for Station Avenue. This is your warning that the funeral home is approaching soon. It will be on your Right, just before the next stoplight, King's Highway.
If you cross King's Highway, you've gone too far.
via route 130
Take 130 to the Route 30 circle, and take 30 east.
Continue to the light at King's Highway, cross the intersection, the funeral home will be immediately on your left.
from Pennsylvania via 76.
Take the Walt Whitman Bridge and make sure you're in the FAR RIGHT lane on the bridge. Take the first exit on your right, 354, towards Camden Waterfront and then follow signs for 168.
Merge onto 168 South towards Audubon. This road is the Black Horse Pike.
Continue on Black Horse Pike until you reach the light for King's Highway. Make a Left.
Make a Right at your next light, White Horse Pike, route 30.
The funeral home will be immediately on your left.
St. Rose of Lima Catholic Church is one block away from the funeral home, and is visible from the Funeral Home and CVS parking lots. The CVS is directly between the funeral home and the church. |
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| Funeral Arrangements |
[Apr. 30th, 2007|04:55 pm] |
The viewing will held 7-9pm this Thursday, May 3rd, at Healey's Funeral Home in Haddon Heights, NJ on the corner of King's Highway and White Horse Pike.
The funeral mass will be held at 11am on Friday May 4th at St. Rose of Lima Catholic Church, on King's Highway, about a block from the funeral home.
Absolutely everyone is welcome to attend both. Mom was well loved, so we're keeping them both wide open. |
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| Legends Never Die |
[Apr. 30th, 2007|03:19 am] |
| [ | music |
| | This Is How The Story Ends - Five Iron Frenzy | ] |
Momma Grant
1954-2007
You're the only one who ever could've raised me,
and I'm proud to be your son.
We'll never forget you. |
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| Can't Stop the Rockin' |
[Mar. 5th, 2007|11:42 pm] |
| [ | music |
| | Remember the Name - Fort Minor | ] |
shaved my mom's head this week, cuz the chemo was making her hair fall out.
50% compassion
50% badass
100% stubborn irish will
cancer ain't got nothin on you, momma. |
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| the diamond (or where to find it) |
[Feb. 25th, 2007|06:34 pm] |
| [ | music |
| | Planets Conspire - The Meligrove Band | ] |
found my camera.
we now return you to your regularly scheduled photofest. |
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| Beginning to Perspire |
[Feb. 23rd, 2007|04:15 am] |
| [ | music |
| | Heat - Wheatmonkeys | ] |
so i did end up coming down with plague.
it sucked.
i got it right before my last weekend of keswick, so i missed it.
my team did really well, though. i'm proud of them.
still can't find my camera.
the musical i was in was a smash. and they made me cut my hair for it. oh well. apparently people liked it. some friends of mine liked my singing and scouted me to be the vocalist for their band? i listened to their demo CD just now... they've got a really good sound. i think i'll do it.
your art fix for the day is a shot taken by my friend tara, whose photographic ability is vastly underappreciated.
i've no idea who this guy is, or where it was taken, but i'm stealing it from one of her albums online.
 |
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| Legend of the Centuries |
[Feb. 8th, 2007|12:20 pm] |
| [ | music |
| | The Party Scene - All Time Low | ] |
can't find my camera. it's driving me nuts.
i've done keswick twice so far this year, and this weekend i'm leading it for a third time.
if i don't come down with plague, that is. i thought my hall was safe, but, my roommate's got it now.
in lieu of photography, for the time being i'll treat you to some of the most gorgeous poetry i've read in a long time.
unfortunately, if you don't speak french, i won't be able to translate it with even half its beauty. but i'll try to give you a taste.
just one stanza for now. it's from Booz Endormi ("Boaz Asleep") by Victor Hugo.
Voilà longtemps que celle avec qui j'ai dormi,
O Seigneur ! a quitté ma couche pour la vôtre ;
Et nous sommes encore tout mêlés l'un à l'autre,
Elle à demi vivante et moi mort à demi.
It's Boaz talking to God about his wife, who passed away years ago. In biblical language, those who've died are said to be "sleeping in the Lord"
How long it's been since she slept here with me,
Oh Lord! since she left my bed for yours;
and still, yet still we're mixed, one with the other,
she half living, and I half dead.
Victor effing Hugo, ladies and gentlemen. |
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| So. 2007.There's that. |
[Jan. 1st, 2007|03:22 am] |
| [ | music |
| | Fog - Wintersleep. | ] |
i found a song title written down in my house on a scrap of paper in my handwriting. i tracked it down online and as soon as i started listening to it, i realized it's a song i've been hearing in dreams i can't ever remember.
but i don't think that means anything.
 |
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| Drained and Flooded |
[Dec. 13th, 2006|01:22 pm] |
| [ | music |
| | This Place is a Prison - The Postal Service | ] |
 |
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| A crooked french-canadian |
[Dec. 3rd, 2006|04:08 am] |
| [ | music |
| | July, July! - The Decemberists | ] |
"Uh. Leonard. There's a poodle driving that car." |
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| It's a long walk |
[Nov. 28th, 2006|02:10 am] |
| [ | music |
| | Three Oh Nine - Hit The Lights | ] |
"It confuses me. Faith, I mean. How some people have it, and some people don't. How some people can pick it up, out of nothing, it seems, and how some people can lose it after building their lives around it. How does that happen? I took what I remember of the day I found faith and I try to reenact it, you know, maybe pick it back up where I left off. It never works."
"Maybe you don't really want to believe in all that. Maybe you're too smart for the lies anymore."
"Too smart? If it's a lie, it's the most beautiful lie I ever lived. And I want it back, no matter what you cynical 'educated' atheists have to say about it. I don't care if it's true. I want it back." |
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