Grandpa Myers, The Weather, and Whatever Else I Feel Like Talking About

The best part of seeing my Ohio relatives when they came to visit was just listening to them talk. That's because my relatives were real Ohioans, from the old school that is, and for a kid born and raised in California like me it was always a hoot to listen to all those strange Midwestestern things they used to say. Not that Ohioans talk like that anymore, of course, but in those days before the country was flattened by the banalities of a common culture people from Ohio used to talk different. At least my relatives did, and it was always brought out a few giggles from me and my brothers.

Especially Grandpa Myers. Grandpa Myers was Ohio through and through.

"Hey Buddy (that was my father's name), looks like you could use a little rain. Doesn't seem to much water in that crick over there."

(giggle, giggle, giggle)

"What's so funny back there boys?"

"Grandpa, you said crick. It's not crick, it's creek. C-R-E-E-K, creek."

"Creek? Why that little ol' mud puddle. I never heard such a thing. Ain't enough water in it to be a CREEK. Back where I come from a puny little thing like ain't nothing more than a crick. Ain't that right Buddy?"

"Out here they say creek, Dad. You boys have never seen a real creek before, have you? Not like they have back in Ohio."

"You know we had a crick back in Ohio and when your Dad was about your age he used to go diving into it off an old wooden bridge. Lucky he didn't break his neck, ain't that right Buddy? Good thing Grandma never caught you. Ho, good night nurse!"

(giggle, giggle, giggle)

"Now what're you laughing about?"

"Grandpa, what does 'good night nurse' mean?"

"Never mind that boys. Now Dad, what do you and mom want to eat tonight? You feel like going out to a restaurant or do you want Marge (that was my mother's adopted name) to fix something up at home?"

"That's up to you Buddy. Whatever you feel like doing."

"How about a restaurant. Got any favorites you feel like going to?"

"Well, how about that Eye-talian restaurant we went to last time. That was pretty good."

(giggle, giggle, giggle)

"That Eye-talian restaurant, down there by the crick. Is that where you want to go?"

(guffaw, guffaw, guffaw)

"Boys, settle down back there, I mean it. I don't know what you think is so funny."

"It's not Eye-talian, dad, it's It-alian."

"What did I say?"

(snicker, snicker, snort, snort.)

"You said Eye-talian. (giggle, snort, guffaw, snicker) You said the Eye-talian restaurant down by the crick (chortle, snort, laugh, giggle)"

Okay, so I never said we were mature for our age. Anyways, Grandpa always got a kick out of it and after a while I think he used to put on a little extra of that midwestern talk just to get us going. He'd thown in a few "look out Sadie's" and "Katie bar the door's" just to get us giggling, and of course when he said the word "root" it always rhymed with "foot". "You want to get a root beer" always sounded a lot like "You want to get a foot gear" when coming out of Grandpa's mouth.

Grandpa's favorite word, however, was winnergnauss. What did it mean? Well it wasnt' a real word at all but just a made up word he'd use whenever he was talking about horseradish. Yeah, my Grandpa loved his horseradish. Liverwurst sandwiches with horseradish, sausages with horseradish, saurkraut with horseradish, peanut butter and horser...well, you get the idea. But he never called it horseradish, he always called it winnergnauss, for reasons he never explained. But it became kind of like a little family joke.

"How's the steak, Grandpa?"

"Needs some winnergnauss."

(giggle, giggle, giggle.)

"How are the eggs Grandpa?"

"Where's the winnergnauss?"

(giggle, giggle, giggle)

Well, you get the idea. I remember once after Grandma and Grandpa moved to So. California my Grandpa took me to this new German restaurant that just opened up down the street. Geez, he was so excited because there was no place to get any good German food down where they were living at the time, so when this new restaurant finally opened he took me out for a walk one day and headed straight for the place and some good German cooking. We finally got to the end of the block and I could see the big red roof and on top of it was a big yellow sign on top that read

"Der Weinerschnitzel - Grand Opening".

So on we went to take a look and it was almost sad to see the disappointment on Grandpa's face when he looked at the menu. No brautwurst, no liverwurst, no saurbraten, nothing. Finally he looked down the menu and found something that looked at least a little promising. "I'll have a kraut dog", he said and I ordered a hot dog for myself and we sat down to eat. Poor Grandpa, I saw him take one bite and almost sneer with disgust as he put the thing back in it's wrapper and down the dumpster.

"What's wrong, Grandpa. Aren't you hungry?"

"Needs winnergnauss", he grumbled, and that's the last German meal he ever ordered up at Der Weinerschnitzel.

So why am I telling you all this? Well, it has to do with this heat wave we've been having. You see, out here in the Bay Area we have what are called "microclimates". What that means is that in the summertime a huge bank of fog hugs the coast of California and creates these huge climatic differences in the local weather. It's not unusual, for instance, for temperatures to be sub-zero at the coastline and then be 179 degrees only a few miles inland.

And the weatherpeople love this.

Just turn on the news any night in the summertime and you'll see them up there on the TV screen grinning as they make their forecasts. "Look for temperatures around 158 degrees tomorrow in Livermore, and for you folks at the coast be sure to carry chains as there's a winter storm warning in effect for San Franscisco and Pacifica." Yeah, they just love it as we inland folk sit and swelter while they stand around their air conditioned studios and play with all their little weather toys. Pisses me off, too. I say no one should be allowed to stand there and grin while others suffer, but then weatherpeople enjoy the suffering of others, don't they?

Of course they do. When the weather's nice and calm and nothing's really happening they just stand there in front of the camera looking bored and distracted and thinking about what they're going to have for dinner that night or where they're going to go on their next vacation or whatever. But as soon and a tornado touches down or a hurricane blows ashore or a sweltering heat wave settles in then they perk up and get all excited. "Alright", they say, "weather danger, people are suffering, this is so cool". And then they just start their grinnin'. Bah, I say, come down here and I'll wipe that grin from your face, Mr. Weatherperson. Nyah, I'll show you what I think of your forecast, nyah. You think you can mess with Little Rico, huh? I'll show you. Nyah.

Well, anyways. So the best part of when your Ohio relatives comes to visit is when they decide they want to go visit San Francisco for the first time. That is if you live in San Jose, I mean, because being south of San Francisco in the summertime means that our temperatures are around 30 degrees warmer than the temperatures in S.F., and that always makes for great fun.

There they are, your Ohio relatives, it's 95 degrees outside and they've got their shorts on and maybe a sleeveless blouse or a polo shirt on all ready for a nice sunny day in the great city by the bay, and then out you come carrying a sweater or a jacket and they look at like you've got a few bolts loose.

"Buddy, you're not bringing a jacket are you? Why it's so hot out here I'm about to melt."

"It can get pretty cold up in San Francisco ma, you might want to bring a coat along."

"No, I'll be fine. You've got air conditioning in that car of yours don't you?"

"Yeah. Sure you don't want to bring a coat?"

"No I'll be alright."

"Ok, don't say I didn't warn you."

Yeah, those first-timers, they're pretty funny. They never know what they're getting into. They figure if it's hot in San Jose then it must be hot everywhere, but then they get out of the car at fisherman's wharf and that fog and that wind hits them and they get educated real fast. Hooey, that's always good for a laugh, and it's even better when all the native San Franciscans walking around in scarves and winter coats start looking at them in their shorts and thin little blouses and start giving each other those knowing glances. You know the kind.

"Tourists. Must have come up from San Jose".

Yeah, that's just one of the ways that we Bay Areans get our kicks when entertaining out-of-state visitors. And of course we take pictures so that we can look back through our photo albums years later and remember the day. There's mom and dad and me all bundled up and smiling in front of a huge fog bank that's supposed to be the Golden Gate Bridge, and look, there's Aunt Rose shivering like a ghost, clutching her arms together, and the wind blowing her hair while her face turns blue. Wasn't that a great time.

I just love looking back through those old pictures.