Have a pizza party

 As we all may be familiar the pizza party is often used as a tool to boost morale by those who enjoy our labor without adequate financial compensation. This is a temporary high. In that setting, it's a meal not morale. 

HOWEVER the pizza party has a very important role when it's not being used as a tool of capitalism to mimic joy and fulfillment. Every birthday as a kid required a pizza party, every cool day at school was a pizza party, some of us even earned pizza by reading books back in the day. We should probably bring that back, honestly. My first lunch date with my bestie of 20 years was pizza. I still have a hand-written recipe card from 7th or 8th grade home ec where we learned to make pizza crust. Why is it so relevant? Is it just me? 

My birthday at Chuck E. Cheese

You can still get me to do something by using pizza as a reward. Maybe the 1980s and '90s marketing was THAT good that it's simply ingrained in some of us that pizza=reward, but it's still sort of seen as a food of celebration. It's more festive than other foods. I don't make the rules. 

Yesterday we hosted some dear friends and their young children in our chaotic cat-filled house for an impromptu pizza party. It was proposed just a few short hours before with people who usually have to do a combination of voodoo, prayer, and calculus to find ways to spend time together because of busy schedules and life obligations. But on this auspicious day, we all had pizza together. Jason got to share some of his very cool toys, I got to share a new wine I'd wanted to try, we got to catch up, we got to share our goodwill amongst people worth sharing it with and WOW DO WE NEED MORE OF THAT.

Many of us are guilty of being "too busy", and rightfully so. The world is very demanding of us and we've really forgotten how to get in touch with a friend and just be together without having to make appointments. When I was a kid we'd ride our bike over and see who was home, or we'd call and ask if they could come over, we'd write notes between classes asking if they wanted to hang out at someone's house after school, we'd have parents come pick us up or we'd hop the bus to the mall (where we would get food court pizza. Don't get my started on how good that was). Our time spent together felt infinite. 

When did we decide we didn't do that anymore? No more pizza parties, no more sleepovers, no more fun for the sake of fun. We're adults now, we get to decide....and ~THIS~ is what we've decided!? Yuck. 

I will admit...my standards have changed. When I was a kid and someone came to the door it was VERY EXCITING to see who was there. Was it mail, a friend, a surprise? Who knows. Now? If you come to my door without notice (if you see my face at all) you're likely to see this face... 

From Black Books, one of the greatest shows of all time. 

I don't love that this is my response but I might not be wearing pants so...just cut me some slack. I'm trying to be more prepared for the day to happen to me. It's going moderately ok, I guess? (I've literally changed my daily routine so that I can be more functional in the day. I won't bore you with the details but it's been kinda helpful, though not without imperfections.) I could also talk about reasons why neurodivergent people have less friends so they don't have to plan things but I'll save that for another inspired day. 

My other caveat here is that the only reason I've been able to do some fun chill things lately is that I've had time off from work. Otherwise my body is exhausted. I'm too exhausted to find joy. That's bullshit and I don't want that anymore. I'm still an agent of capitalism so I'm finding ways to adjust. Work in progress. 

The important point of all this is that sometimes you need to do nothing at all together. Don't plan it, don't curate it, don't make a thing of it. Just do it. (Brb I have to send Nike a dollar.) We don't have to fill every moment of every day but WE GET TO CHOOSE OUR MOMENTS. Why do we choose so poorly? Geez. Yes, some of them are chosen for us but the ones we get to choose are the ones we should use wisely. When we were kids we dreamed of all the decisions we'd get to make and we messed up. We've got to find ways to get that back. Make decisions that would make 12-year-old you feel like a friggin badass grown-up. Dump obligations off your plate-you can't do everything, take a night off from worry-it'll still be there, ignore emails-seriously..., clear a seat for a friend and order a pizza*. 

(*Jason doesn't get to eat pizza but he was fed and it did not diminish our joy. If pizza doesn't work for you, do your thing.) 

Harold

It's been challenging to figure out what to say about Grandpa Harold. 

His official obituary can be found here, for anyone interested.  

He was a Danish first-generation American, Marine veteran, lifelong Lutheran, and fixer of machines. I don't know what he was like when he was younger but he was the definition of a grandpa. He'd bounce the grandkids on his knee, give us little treats, fix our bikes, and say silly grandpa stuff we didn't understand. It wasn't until about 10 years ago that I found another person who used the word "larapin" to describe food. (It was Kinky Friedman in his book Texas Etiquette, which I later gave to grandpa.) I'd ask him what it meant and he'd always say it just means larapin, don't you know larapin? Is that larapin? Where HE got it, I have no idea. 

I was always curious about his Danish family, if he remembered the language, what kinds of things he did when he was younger, but he wasn't ever terribly chatty. I took and cherished what I got from any of the Johnson grandparents because they never found things about themselves as interesting as I did. When grandma Doris died and the Johnson headstone was created I found it fascinating that carved into it was "Jesus Elsker Dig", which is "Jesus Loves You" in Danish. This must have been something the Danish Johnson's said and he must have still thought it was important. I don't think he really remembered much Danish but I'm sure he was never taught to read or write it. Others in the family that I've never met have done tons of genealogy work and I have many records, which is great, but I never got very many stories I'd hoped for. I've found more photos of his parents and family recently while digging through boxes of photos. I love them. I never met his parents since they were gone before I got here. 

The thing I thought about soon after he was gone was that he's one of the only men I can think of who has never been upset or cross with me. (As far as I know...I'm sure I got in trouble a time or two as a kid.) He never expected me to be anything I wasn't. He never made me feel bad about anything at all. I didn't feel like I was ever treated any differently than my cousins who got to see him all the time. I'm often never more alone than when I'm with my relatives but this was never the case with the grandparents. 

They always got up much earlier than me and he'd already be out working in his shop by the time I got up and had breakfast. I'd sometimes go out and see what he was working on or I'd see him when I went out to play in the yard or get my bike. He'd head out to coffee midmorning, and sometimes I'd go with him and have a glazed donut and a glass of milk while I swung my feet off the stool. He'd always come in for lunch when the noon whistle blew. He always had Wintergreen gum in the cabinet. When everyone was younger, since I was usually there in the summertime, we'd all go out for a walk or bike ride after dinner. We might have popcorn when it got dark and the night news came on. Grandma always went to bed a little earlier but I'd stay up with grandpa to watch Letterman, then MASH, during which he'd usually fall asleep and snore himself awake sporadically until he decided to go to bed. 

On the weekends or days he wasn't busy we might watch his VHS of Victor Borge or Grumpy Old Men. His favorite part of Grumpy Old Men was when they'd call each other moron and putz. That's made all the more funny by the fact that I don't know if he ever said anything unpleasant to another person. There were certainly people he didn't care for but I never heard him say anything negative about almost anything. He didn't look for it. He sought out the simple pleasant things and the rest didn't seem to interest him. The exception there is sports. He'd comment on their lack of ability if they weren't doing what he wanted. He also hated Kathy Sabine's hair, for some reason. (She's a Colorado news meteorologist.) He said she needed a comb. That was probably the 90s when the Rachel hair was going around and surely it was just too fluffy for his liking. But truly...his dislike of Kathy's hair is the worst thing I ever heard him say. 

He enjoyed a simple bologna sandwich, just like me. He enjoyed black licorice and jellybeans, just like me. He'd happily try just about any kind of cookie, cake, ice cream, candy, mustard, pickles that were presented to him, just like me. It's an eternal argument about these things, whether or not we both had it in us genetically or if I learned it from him, or both. He enjoyed Spam, we'd eat pancakes for dinner, and he always said the pre-supper prayer if he was home. Sometimes a sale would keep him away later than usual and it would be just me and grandma for dinner. Meals at the Johnson house were never anything fancy but for whatever reason always an essential process in my day. They operated on clockwork most of the time. I'd fuss at grandma for saying dinner instead of lunch and supper instead of dinner. Sitting at the little built-in table in their vintage, full-to-the-brim kitchen, is at the core of my being. I will probably never do so again but it'll never leave me. I'd sometimes help with dishes but if I didn't they'd go into action automatically. Grandma would wash and grandpa would dry and put away. 

It's hard to lose the people who have been such a part of your recipe of existence. It's different hard to lose the places familiar to you, that have not changed in your entire life. Grandma and grandpa's house has changed a bit over the years, new knickknacks here and there, new family and friend photos every year, but so much of it is exactly the same as it ever was. I dream entirely unrelated events in their house on a regular basis because it's a mothership and my brain just defaults to that physical place. It was also common for the other grandparent's house as I never knew them anywhere else. 

I am without any mothership but I retain many of the pieces that made it. 

I am relieved he no longer will have pain and struggles, though he was very hearty and active until the very end of his time. I hope whatever comes next means he's reunited with all his loved ones because after 93 years he outlived just about everyone in his family or that he knew as a younger man. This is a frail attempt to illustrate him but he was a kind man who enjoyed the simple things in life. As Pastor Jeff said at his services, "We need more people like Harold Johnson." This is one of few absolute truths.