Assisted-Living Canasta

16_05_05, originally uploaded by xdrjohnx.

A rather unremarkable day. I gotta get out of this apartment more. I sit around and the hours just slide away. Plus my parents raise my blood pressure - no kidding.

This was breakfast, lunch, and dinner. We stopped at a BBQ place on the way to my grandmother's apartment. Got yur pig, some macaroni, a wedge 'a corn bread, and a scoop of brunswick stew. Overall, very so-so. The pork was too dry, man. Too damn dry.

The roof on the place was huge... I was trying to find the restaurant's name with google but no luck. I started using their Map service, though, pretty hard to miss that roof:

So we met up with my grandmother for cards. We walked down the hall to this sitting area, cleared the crowds away (ha), and started playing. Canasta. I think my mom asked how long it had been since we'd played canasta together and, of course, everyone remembered that it had been with my dead grandfather. I doubt my grandmother has played canasta without him for 20 years or so. It's the memories of people in specific situations that stay the most vivid. When I think of "my grandfather" nothing really comes to mind. But when I think of him playing cards I remember the expression on his face when he discarded, the way he hid behind his cards when he chuckled, and other really minute stuff. Yah, he was always fun to play cards with. He had a great laugh, actually; this high pitched, fragmented, on-the-inhale thing. My dad has a terrible laugh - always looking up. My grandfather always looked down.