Back when my daughter, Jackie, was pregnant with Lucian, our daughter asked what we wanted to be called by her child.
We were not having anything to do with the prefix “grand” attached, or any variation of that word. It is an invocation to the nursing home.
Since we never spoke baby to our children – ever – we weren’t going to let our grans slide by variations on the theme by cutesying the “grand” term up. I knew I would never respond in public to such a title. No hyphenated poppa, no grammy, and absolutely no sweet derivative that will make my few real teeth ache at its utterance. [Apologies, to anyone who went that route – you were absolutely right in your personal preference. Ignore the ravings of this lunatic.]
I needed a title that could be called out in a crowded playground or park full of youngsters and allow me to instantly understand that it was I, and not one of the others in a geriatric bench crowd, being summoned.
Now I’ve been a huge fan of the movie “The Big Lebowski,” since the last century.
I understood the slacker nature of the central character Jeffrey “The Dude” Lebowski.
Once upon a time I actually had his hair. I even had similar taste in clothing.
I’ve always suffered from arrested development. I ran from responsibility and achievement. All I ever wanted to do was “abide” life. Roll with it. See where it took me. A constant observer, not a participant.
Luckily, I married a woman who would have none of that and would not allow me to remain a slacker.
Indeed, while I cannot confirm or deny it, I believe “none of that” morphed into Lisa’s title, “Nona.”
She threw me into the arena of life. “We, who are about to die, salute you!”
Surprisingly, the dust has cleared and I’m still standing.
So, when the time came to impose official family nomenclature, I chose “The Dude.” Over time, familia familiarity led to the dropping of preceding definite article, so I’m known to and referred by Lucian, Scarlett, Savanna and Stella as simply, “Dude.”
[And yes, they are all characters in The Claire Saga]
Anyway, there are very few photographs of Dude and Nona in existence. My wife – a blood sorceress from a long-established upstate New York coven — refuses to be photographed, especially with me.
However, over the centuries we have been captured in art. Indeed, you can find representations under other titles in some of the rarest collections in the finest museums of Western Europe.
Lisa and I laughed when we spotted one in the Louvre in 2008.
Yesterday morning, at the Villages Cafe in Loveland, Colorado, one more bit of historical art entered the universe. Savanna, who is elven by blood and who loves to draw, captured us perfectly.
Anyway, once presented with her masterpiece, I was given two options: either exercise my eternal Bronx license to steal the little sketch pad – Lisa would have none of that – or to be a little more responsible in front of Savanna and just snap this photo.
The Dude abides. Photo it is.
And I am sharing it with the Universe. Voila.
Well, for you few poor young folks among my fine, five readers, Monday still retains its misery. A new work week begins. But not to worry, life speeds up every single day, so before you know it, it will be Friday yet again for more fun and shenanigans.
Until then let us all do our very best to make today a great one.
