more about my grandfather

Photo of my grandfather from April when I wanted an image of him for my phone so he decided to stick his tongue out at me. I think it's my favorite picture of him ever.

I'm at my parents. After I left last night, apparently my grandpa fell or walked into a wall or something and went back into the hospital. Looks like most of his recent spills and disorientation have been low blood sugar problems thanks to his diabetes medication and a slow kidney or something like that. Even though as 90-year-olds go, he's doing damn well, he's pretty depressed by his own frailty and may be giving up. About an hour ago I was thinking about him and about my college essay and trying to keep a record of everything we know so that we can share it with others in a lesser version of immortality. I'd taped him telling his life stories at dinner one night and again at his 90th birthday party, so I started transcribing them. I'd like to get it all down while he's still around to ask questions and clarify and fill holes. But transcribing takes a crazy-long time and it's already a crazy-long chunk of recorded material. I've gone through about 25 minutes of it straight through typing everything I could. I think I have about two hours taped. I should probably intensify my efforts.
Right now I'm feeling sad. I keep thinking about yesterday and sharing watermelon with my grandfather right out of the disposable tupperware from his fridge. My dad always makes a big to-do about food presentation; his salad bar creations come out gorgeous and take-out always gets transferred to real plates. My grandpa was worried I'd be offended by the informality of the watermelon presentation. I explained to him that, at my apartment, I drink orange juice out of the apartment and I was just impressed he had metal silverware.
"Yeah, Susie [my aunt] did that," he laughed. "She did this whole place."
"I should get her to do my apartment next." We understood: all the nice formal things are swell, but we lack the inspiration or need to create them for ourselves. Watermelon tastes just as good (and sometimes better) with two forks and a shared vat.
My aunt and my dad have always had very strong personalities. Their mother did, too, as did my grandfather's girlfriend of the past decade. I always ascribed to my grandpa the characteristics of the people who surrounded him. Turns out I was wrong.

That's all for tonight.