Fletcherize?

My grandfather died early yesterday morning. He was in his mid-nineties (either 94 or 95… I can’t remember), so it’s hard to say it was unexpected. But it still seemed to happen so fast – one day he was fairly stable, and the next he needed morphine and his kidneys were failing.

It wasn’t a shock when it happened… just sort of strange, I guess. My grandfather was a chemist who continued working well past retirement age (just as I imagine my own dad will :)), and who, up until recently, was quite active. The turning point was probably a few years ago when my grandmother died. They’d been married over 60 years – and when you lose someone you’ve spent two thirds of your life with, it has to be devastating. I can still remember my grandfather standing next to my grandmother’s casket at her viewing, looking lost and bewildered – as if he couldn’t imagine what his life would be about anymore. I think he quite literally lost half of himself when he lost my grandmother, and he was never quite the same.

I think there are two things I’ll really remember about my grandfather – one was his love of vanilla ice cream and strawberries. Homemade vanilla ice cream was a family tradition when I was a kid, and I have many memories of sitting at the table in grandma and grandpa’s house with a big bowl of what I believed to be the best ice cream in the world. And home-grown strawberries from my grandparents’ garden were often sliced and poured on top of the ice cream. When I think of how my family loves strawberries so much, it makes me wonder what sort of bizarre short-circuit in my brain has resulted in my abnormal seed aversion. I have to believe that if it weren’t for my seed hatred, I would be topping my ice cream with strawberries, too…

The other thing I’ll always remember about my grandfather was that he seemed to know everything about everything. He was like a walking encyclopedia. As a chemist, he had to be intelligent, of course. But he wasn’t just knowledgeable about all-things-science – he knew random things about random topics that most people might not even bother learning about. I remember one instance not too long ago when we traveled up to East Aurora – the little town in New York where grandma and grandpa lived – and we took grandpa out to eat to the Roycroft Inn, an historic restaurant/inn not far from his home. The building is an old, dark maze of wood-paneled rooms, and after we’d eaten, Eric and I decided to walk around and explore a bit. In one of the big empty rooms, we discovered a panel hanging from the ceiling that read, “don’t forget to fletcherize.” Huh? Eric and I read the sign over and over, trying to make sense of it, but finally decided it must be some weird saying associated with the inn.

When we got back to the table, we mentioned it to everyone else – “we saw this weird sign that said ‘don’t forget to fletcherize’” – and everyone at the table was just as perplexed as Eric and I were. Everyone, that is, except grandpa. Up until this point, he’d been quietly eating his dinner at the head of the table, observing but not speaking. But when we mentioned the sign, he suddenly piped up and offered his own theory – to “fletcherize,” he said, meant to chew your food thoroughly. Specifically, at least thirty times. It was a belief postulated by a man named Fletcher. He thought it was better for digestion.

I think at first we all sort of humored grandpa – just kind of, “oh, right. Of course. Fletcherize. Chew your food.” But secretly, we were all thinking it seemed like a game of Balderdash – that dictionary game where you make up definitions for strange words and hope your opponents believe them. After dinner, we found a hotel employee and asked about the “fletcherize” sign. And imagine our surprise when he told us the same thing grandpa had just said – to “fletcherize” really DOES mean to chew your food thoroughly. It really WAS something a guy named Fletcher believed was better for digestion. Who knew? Only grandpa the walking encyclopedia…

So this week will be busy… mom and dad are already on their way up north, and Rick and I will flying up on Thursday. And then Sunday we leave for a week in Hawaii. There was some discussion about whether we should postpone this trip, but it was finally decided that we should go ahead and go. Dad will appreciate the week off after the stress of this week, and grandpa always was an enthusiastic traveler – he sailed on cruises with us until just a few years ago, and traveling seemed to be a big part of his life. Rick thinks I must’ve gotten my wanderlust genes from dad’s side of the family. So I have a lot of planning and packing to do this week.

Which means I should probably stop writing and start doing other things… :)