For Easter weekend we drove down to Las Vegas to visit Grandpa Franklin. Grandma was up in Portland with my sister Misha who just had a baby (little Zoe was five weeks early and weighted 10 pounds!), so we went down to see Grandpa and, in part, to help their condo feel a little less empty. Oh yeah, and to see their cute dogs.
The little dog is Bugsy and the bigger one is Joe-Joe. Yes my parents named their dog Joe-Joe. When they got it from the breeder, it had already been named "Joe," but they figured they couldn't have a dog with the same name as their third son, so they changed it...to Joe-Joe (that clears up the problem ;-) ).
riding a firelane on a mountain bike--You approach, drop in, hold on, and hope you don't crash before you make it to the bottom.
Even more strange was to be in a neighborhood built by my great grandfather and on the front steps of the high school where my father went to school, and to feel the notable absence of the man between them--the son of the builder, the father of my father...nowhere in the picture. A generational gap in the shape of Ed Franklin, a man who wasn't good enough for his own father, and who wasn't man enough to be a father to his own children. But that is something for the book, not the blog. So I'll leave you with this: My boys love their Grandpa Franklin. They were delighted to spend the weekend with him, to hear his stories and to share his table. I am daily grateful that my boys have gotten to know him so well, and I'm determined that there will be no more gaps.