Generations Of Meaning

On Saturday, my parents visited my grandparents. It should be understood, before this story proceeds, that the aforementioned grandparents do not – nor have they ever – live a life of social conformity. It should also be noted that some of the life that they live has been heavily influenced by misfortunes beyond their control, and that some of their misfortunes are their own doing. This is – I suppose – an accurate description of all of our lives. Why my grandparents have taken theirs to the extreme – created a caricature of many other people’s lives – I do not know. What I do know is that there are many lessons to be learned from the observation of their lives, but that there are also many unanswerable questions raised.

The universe, or its creator, or controller, or [insert belief of choice], has connected my grandparents with a landlord who is either a saint or a stark raving lunatic. His tolerance of their habits/accumulations/lifestyles has transcended that of any “normal” human being. For some time, my grandparents have resided in a rental property owned by this man, and – in that time – they have essentially destroyed said property. Unfortunately, this is but the most recent “home” in a long line of “homes” that is a casualty of their residency. What they do to these buildings – and how they do it – isn’t entirely clear. After “helping them move” out of their last building (which they would have continued to refuse to leave, caved-in kitchen ceiling and all, had it not – SERIOUSLY – been destined for condemnation) I have begun to suspect that the space that surrounds my grandparents possesses the same strange properties as the Bermuda triangle. My grandparents appear to be the only parties unaffected by their bizarre surroundings.

My parents’ arrival was greeted as one might greet the arrival of any welcome guest, with the added element of the greeters being buried behind piles of possessions that obscured my parents’ view of them. Prominently situated in clear view on the dining room table, however, was a giant, oversized, chandelier light fixture. The presence of this item shall be dubbed Mystery Number One. The cover story was that the fixture was a “good deal,” despite the implausibility of this when one factors in the inability to install said fixture in a RENTAL property. Such logic was deflected with a breezy tale of the landlord’s admiration of the chandelier, demonstrated on his last visit. Whether or not this admiration was legitimate – or what it might mean - would be impossible to ascertain, so Mystery Number One will remain unsolved.

Mystery Number One displays striking similarities to Mystery Number Two, which revolves around a popular household appliance – the vacuum cleaner. It appears that my grandfather feels an irresistible draw – a siren’s call, one might say – when in the presence of a non-functioning vacuum cleaner. This has led to the acquisition of vacuum cleaners numbering in the double digits. Unfortunately for my grandfather and the vacuums, he does not seem to possess the actual skills required to fix these appliances. Even more unfortunately, it has been made clear that my grandparents – despite their wealth of vacuums – do not own a single cleaner that actually WORKS. The statistical odds of this are mind-boggling.

Nothing, however, is quite as mind-boggling as the latest mystery: Mystery Number Three, The Big One. On this lovely Saturday morning, as my grandparents lounged in their living room, my grandmother held a mass of “something” upon her lap. She paid no mind to it until my mother, her experience-developed sense no doubt alerting her, questioned her as to the exact nature of this pile. My grandmother, without hesitation, replied that the object on her lap was actually a pile of THONG UNDERWEAR. She said this as if it were a hand towel, or a remote control, or a comfy throw. In a touching display of thoughtfulness, she added that – perhaps – my mother would like to take them home for ME???

Mystery Number Three is almost too much. Where – in the world – did this pile of undergarments come from??? Why was she holding them on her lap??? How long had they been sitting there??? The questions balloon upon each other, growing ever larger. They shall – alas – likely never be answered. The contemplation of them provides an outlet for me, a way in which I can consider elements of my grandparent’s lives without becoming overwhelmed with the larger questions that my mind might – and sometimes does - raise. These items with which they surround themselves are, I suspect, manifestations of larger “wants” or desires – things they have found to be unattainable. They are also evidence of having lived a life – regardless of the degree of life fulfillment.

From the outside, looking in, it seems to me clear that they could have made different choices; that they did not – perhaps – have to make the sacrifices or choices that they did. In reality, it is far easier for me to use a focus on their lives – and what they might have done differently – as my own avenue of escape. What might I have labeled “unattainable,” in my own life, needlessly? Behind what piles of accumulations might I be hiding? The questions raised by my grandparents lives ricochet into my own, insisting that I examine my self more closely.

One fact I do know - one truth that grounds me in the midst of life’s turbulence - is this: I shall never, ever, find myself in possession of – on my lap or elsewhere – a pile of thong underwear.