"Well, I'm going to watch my ancient aliens", my grandmother exclaims. Whipping out the ol' iPad, she references the TV Guide. "You know you can do that now a days" she says informatively while flashing the smudged screen in my direction. "Gee whiz, modern technology sure is mind boggling" I say, as if I too am a fellow old timer (I totally am) reminiscant of a time when it was just the milkman, the paper boy and evening T.V( I have also watched an embarrassing  amount of Full House). I give her a genuine smile and my eyes begin to wander. My grandparents familiar living room is ornamented with a fresh fir, lighted and tinseled (my grandfathers personal touch), it gleams like something fake that only comes alive under certain company. Like Kim kardashian in the face of paparazzi, except of course overwhelmingly more wholesome and charming. Bing Crosby emanates from the speakers as a begin to imagine the type of elves who would make such fine tinsel; quizzical looking folk who are small business owners. Creatures that work anxiously though the winter solstice and record sales in an artisan logbook, made entirely of the backyard sycamore that they also call their home.

  A ways next to her, my grandpa sits with his favorite house wine in hand, a white 8 dollar potion that he enjoys every evening. He is the type of person that "heads inside" when leading us into the living room from the kitchen and manages to be over accommodating;his greatest vice.  " Can I get you something to eat princess. We've got chips and cookies, two different kinds of lunch meat, lucky charms, and some grapes, the finest sort from H-E-B (the local grocer) Oh and we've got sodas outback! You like diet sprite right?" He says this with an unexplained yet unfailing sense of urgency, as if I didn't know where everything was already. "Nah I'm find right now, thanks" I say through a mouthful of Chips-ahoy that undetected, I already helped myself to as soon as I skipped through the door. What can I say, I adore my artificial sugars. "Are you sure? C'mon Camille don't be bashful this is your house too". I then begin to explain that I in fact, am not bashful and  know where everything is, and if I need anything I would help myself. "Oh I'm sorry princess, I know you're trying to trim down and I'm proud of what youre doing. Im not pushing junk food, but again you know where everything is." As I swallow the remainder of my sweetened snack, he shoots me a wink.

 It is December 8th, three weeks before my family packs up shop in sunny San Antonio and relocates to oh so snowy Denver; away from my childhood home and the city that nursed me to teenage hood, separating me  from the friends that I simply can't live without. Overall, it is pretty safe to say that I'm eager to greet this new adventure with a good old fashion high five, but I've overlooked what is tearing me up most of all. Leaving my grandparents will be the hardest mountain that I have ever had to scale in all my fifteen years. They have always been at my side when I am lonely or scared or simply just want to chat, especially my grandpa. Throughout my childhood we have been inseparable pals; going on hikes in the woods behind his house,creating stories of the magical and adventurous folk that dwell within them, and watching episodes of sponge bob on his lap while munching on popcorn. With him I ran my first competitive 5k race, and with me he ran his last.

  I observe him quietly from across the room, and wonder what he was like as a teen, in conjunction with a slew of other things( including a catchy Wilco tune). Uniformly, his leisure attire consists of electric blue 70's era running shorts, a t-shirt, and as a statement piece, ten year old Velcro sandles that display his well, wiley runners feet. His bright, ruddy complexion is accompanied by a sparkle in his blue eyes. Drink induced or not it is undetermined, but still a loving countenance all the same. Propped up against his favorite couch he smiles at me, recounting stories of our past; of a two year old girl getting back on the plane to head back to Delaware where she would live for a few more months before moving. She turns around while boarding and waves innocently while meekly saying "Bye bye grandpa" , before disappearing admidst the crowd. " That was the day my heart was broken" he says, and I quickly change the subject to something more refined such as the latest Pickles comic or a joke about my uncle Bob. In the end we always end up ragging on each other in a way that only a grandfather- granddaughter duo can. "Hows soccer going? He asks in his now fading long island inflection, and everything falls into a humming coalescence.

At the hour and at every hour, the outdoor bird clock lets out a chirp. And about minutes later, his kinsman, old cuckoo from the master bedroom and grandfather clock from "inside" sing along in an entirely unique cacophony that somehow always works. They are reminders of our imminent farewell, haunting " post its"of the day in my not so distant future that I will once again turn and cry "Bye bye grandpa" and break his heart, until the next time.

That night I lay awake in a lucid dream, Envisioning my future life in Denver. The new town that will shape me and the new friends that I won't be able to live without. And hopefully as a writer too. All the while keep revisiting the images of the past with my grandpa, and all the future adventures with him that are still to come.