Sweet and spicy, just like grandma...

I know a thing or two about grandmas. You might say I'm a grandma expert.

Hello, my name is David, and I'm a Male Grandma. I feel better already.

My special abilities are thoughtful gifts and soup. I am beloved of animals and babies. I know my way around a garage sale. I strongly believe that food solves most problems. I require hugs to maintain my magic. Grandma Magic.

What does any of this have to do with the McDonald's commercials other than repeated and deliberate use of the word "grandma"? I won't answer that or any of your other questions, Becky.

I've often been described as motherly. At first, I was insulted by this. My latent masculinity programming would automatically go on the offense. Motherly? Excuse you? The Masculinity Protocol doesn't allow for comparisons to any female characteristic, least of all that of a mother. As I grew and matured, I came to realize that being compared to a mother wasn't an insult. The people that were saying it were people close to me, so their intent was not to ridicule or emasculate me. I'm caring and empathetic like a mother. A compliment. Never been good at taking those. Where was I going with this?

I notice when people get haircuts. This startles some people, especially men. To the straight male mind, when I say "Hey! You got a haircut. Looks good." that translates to "Yo, lemme get that dick".

I dadsplain more than I mansplain. The difference is intent. Dadspaining comes from a place of love and concern. Perhaps you don't know the proper way to remove an engorged tick. Allow me to dadsplain that process to you, as well as the dangers of Lyme Disease. There is an easier way to complete the task you are doing, allow me to give you an unsolicited tutorial on my superior method because I love you. It's not as bad.

I'm working through a lot right now, mentally and emotionally. My Dad passed away on August 10th. I haven't talked much about it. I don't know that I'm going to. I don't know that anything makes any sense. And that's the one thing I know for sure.

Things get weird for me. I'm sure it gets weird for everyone, but I only know from my own perception how weird it gets. Life feels like a movie I'm watching. I feel like a spectator.

Some days, I don't feel anything. I wonder sometimes if my feelings are only the feelings of the people around me and that when I'm by myself I don't really feel anything.

I'm at the beginning of a two week break. I'm not sure what I want to get out of it other than doing some laundry and throwing away a lot of shit. The head-space I'm in right now is uncharted territory for me. Where do I go from here?

I'm trying to keep it sweet and spicy, like grandma. Maybe a little bit more spice than sugar. I want to be a more authentic me, but I'm not sure what that looks like. I don't recognize myself sometimes.

Control is really just the illusion of control. Keep the plates spinning. Figure it out. Don't stop moving.


Day 1. Rest.

Spectral Garage

"I don't remember that rotten garage being there before," said David, peering at a dilapidated old stone-and-mortar garage that sat on a hill in the distance.

"It's the Mandela Effect," said Dane without looking up. He was otherwise engaged with repairing his harpoon gun.

"No, I mean it wasn't there a few minutes ago and now it's there. I don't know if that qualifies as the Mandela Effect. And for the record, Nelson Mandela died in 2013, not the 80's."

Dane locked a harpoon into the muzzle of his cannon and fired it into the trunk of a maple tree behind David.

"That's what they want you to think." he said.

David rolled his eyes. "How long has Dylan been gone?" he asked.

"Coupla hours."

David snapped his fingers, summoning his grimoire. The eldritch tome appeared suddenly, floating in front of him. It opened and the pages started to turn themselves rapidly before stopping on an entry entitled Spectral Garages. He read aloud:

"Spectral garages and other menacingly out-of-place buildings are a rare occurrence in the Shift. Though most spectral garages are perfectly benign, one should always proceed with caution as they are occasionally portals to pocket dimensions or storage facilities for unsavory characters. Usually, if you wait long enough they disappear."

Dane sucked his teeth. "You love that book."

The book closed and vanished instantly.

The bushes rustled and Dylan emerged, covered in purple slime. Dane, who a millisecond earlier had been pointing his two sidearms at those same bushes lowered his weapons and laughed uncontrollably.

Dylan's eyes narrowed. He always did this when he felt some kind of way. This earned him the nickname Squintin Tarantino.

"What happened? What is that?" asked David.

Dane continued to laugh.

"Stepped on a caco-fairy nest on my way back. Apparently they explode when electrocuted." Dylan said, squinting at Dane who was now on the ground cackling.

"Looks like Barney bukakke to me," said Dane, grinning madly as he got to his feet, dusting himself off.

David raised his hand, his eyes clouding over, "Purifico!" A small flash, and the slime was gone.

"Thanks, bro." said Dylan.

"Did you find it?" asked David.

Dylan reached into his pack and pulled out something wrapped in rags and handed it to him.

"Wasn't cheap. She wanted twice what we were offering."

David carefully unwrapped the item while Dane and Dylan looked on. Inside the tattered rags was a small wooden sphere. It was a rich mahogany color and covered in etched arcane symbols. This was what they had been looking for.

"How did you get it? I sent you with everything we had."

Dylan seemed distracted by something in the distance. "Uh, guys?"

David and Dane turned around. The spectral garage was gone. In it's place was an inexplicable creature the size of a school bus. It appeared to be composed almost completely of tentacles and a massive solitary eye. It let out a shrill shriek that reverberated through the forest, shaking the leaves above them. Though it had no mouth to speak of, it almost certainly meant to devour them.

(To be continued...)