Overworked, a little hung over, over-tired, and under exercised I begin this span in an emotional mood. As a recovering dweller on all things negative I constantly avoid dwelling on sad things. Simply put, I'm a weepy little chimp. Before I met my wife, I would fucking cry and mope about everything. She diagnosed it as poor coping skills and I agree. So it's funny that I'm sitting here getting a little wistful and thinking about my Grandfather Gunnar.
It all started with being a little bored, and then I started looking at his old pictures, read my blog about his passing and shed a tear. But the moment didn't really carry on like it used to. Instead, I started thinking about the cigars he smoked, and how it's a terrible vice, but something splendid all in the same puff.
Grandpa loved his cigars. It was his icon, his brand. Wherever Gunnar was, there was at least remnants of an old stub hidden in the bushes waiting for one last puff. My dad joked that he would be an expert marijuana smoker if he ever partook because that guy could smoke that shit down to the last leaf...no doubt.
What got me really on a tear was this story sent from a long lost cousin in Sweden:
"My name is Sanna Greneby,I happened to find this post on Google when i searched "Gunnar deDon". First of all, im sorry about your loss. I am, as you, sure that there is one more entertainer up in heaven and that he is on à better place. My grandmother is Gunborg Bodin, born Gunborg deDon, sister to Gunnar. Even though he is my mothers (Monna) uncle, i grew up knowing him as "farbror Gunnar" (uncle Gunnar). I and My family went to Florida when I was 9 years old and he took us around everywhere and i do remember how fond he was of his cigars. In Disney world we went to one of the attractions and he hid his cigar (the 1/4 that was left of it) in a bush. When we had continued walking for 30 minutes after he suddenly realized he forgot his cigar in the bush and made us all wait for nearly an hour because he had to run back to the bush and collect it! He wouldn't let it go to waste. My father filmed a lot during this holiday and I have a clip when he is sitting by the pool telling stories (in Swedish) and playing the guitar. I can organize some clips to send to you if you would like? He was a great man who I am sure made a great impression on everyone he met."
As grandpa got older and his memory got a little more shoddy, placing cigars in random places became a humorous and laborious game...the funny thing is, my cousin writes this when my grandfather was sharp....it's funny how shit doesn't change.
The absolute convoluted point to this whole "Delve into all things Matty" is this. A beautiful cigar is the perfect pause to a busy day. It causes reflection, and the nicotine pulses on your synapses making them fire, and helping you sort shit out. For Grandpa, as a one manned band, the cigar was his confidant that never did him wrong. He is who I channel every time I light up, knowing I'll probably die much younger from esophageal or throat cancer...heaven forbid. More painstakingly the point is this...
Having something, whether it be a vice, or something simple like a cup of tea, new recipe, crowd to cook for, or a blank canvas for painting gives pause and is perhaps what we all need in order to sort out our busy complicated lives. Perhaps then is when your coping skills get the boost they need and you grow up before your very own eyes.
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