![HAPPY 91st birthday to my maternal grandfather, Herbert!
Here he is in the late 80s teaching me woodshop in Fallbrook, California, where they lived when I was growing up. My mother grew up in Pacific Palisades (like me, she lived in the same house the entirety of her childhood - now I think “how crazy to think of living in one spot for that long?!”), and they moved to Fallbrook around the time my parents got married, in 1978. I always spent two or three weeks every summer out there; it was like camp. Pool with diving board, five acres of orange groves (we’d pick fresh oranges every morning to squeeze), lots of places to explore, as it was still fairly rural back then, horseback riding, and then - The Woodshop.
My grandfather - for reasons not entirely clear to me, since he was a lawyer turned businessman - had a huge, tricked out Woodshop in the back of the complex. Every summer my brother and I would make some sort of project involving the use of saws that could easily sever limbs. FUN!! My parents weren’t super overprotective, as you can see. haha
My grandfather also used to take Britt and me out to the back fields and shoot bb guns into coke cans. I’m a pretty good shot, if I remember correctly. (Something bitchy commenters should keep in mind!)
When I left for college, my grandparents moved back to LA, to a house in Glendale, where my grandfather still lives, a block away from my Uncle & Aunt. As regular readers know, my maternal grandmother passed away two months ago.
Whenever I call up Grandpa, the conversation invariably goes like this:
Me: Hi Grandpa! It’s Julia!Grandpa: Hi Julia!Me: How are you?Grandpa: I’m OLD!Me: [Laughs]Grandpa: I’m [fills in whatever age he happens to be]!!
Every. Time.
It’s hiii-larious.
Anyway, this is for Grandpa, on his 91st birthday. I love you!](http://30.media.tumblr.com/NB8YioMLii7d8spa7GkJHBu2o1_400.jpg)
HAPPY 91st birthday to my maternal grandfather, Herbert!
Here he is in the late 80s teaching me woodshop in Fallbrook, California, where they lived when I was growing up. My mother grew up in Pacific Palisades (like me, she lived in the same house the entirety of her childhood - now I think “how crazy to think of living in one spot for that long?!”), and they moved to Fallbrook around the time my parents got married, in 1978. I always spent two or three weeks every summer out there; it was like camp. Pool with diving board, five acres of orange groves (we’d pick fresh oranges every morning to squeeze), lots of places to explore, as it was still fairly rural back then, horseback riding, and then - The Woodshop.
My grandfather - for reasons not entirely clear to me, since he was a lawyer turned businessman - had a huge, tricked out Woodshop in the back of the complex. Every summer my brother and I would make some sort of project involving the use of saws that could easily sever limbs. FUN!! My parents weren’t super overprotective, as you can see. haha
My grandfather also used to take Britt and me out to the back fields and shoot bb guns into coke cans. I’m a pretty good shot, if I remember correctly. (Something bitchy commenters should keep in mind!)
When I left for college, my grandparents moved back to LA, to a house in Glendale, where my grandfather still lives, a block away from my Uncle & Aunt. As regular readers know, my maternal grandmother passed away two months ago.
Whenever I call up Grandpa, the conversation invariably goes like this:
Me: Hi Grandpa! It’s Julia!
Grandpa: Hi Julia!
Me: How are you?
Grandpa: I’m OLD!
Me: [Laughs]
Grandpa: I’m [fills in whatever age he happens to be]!!
Every. Time.
It’s hiii-larious.
Anyway, this is for Grandpa, on his 91st birthday. I love you!
