The Little Things, Like Ragu

My blog has been idle for the past two days. I created this hopeful hobby those two days ago and had only a lousy "About Me" to show for it, for the eyes of a lifeless audience.  Maybe fear kept me from starting, uncertainty, embarrassment.  Just minutes ago I received advice from two people almost simultaneously to just write. Simply write. Write and edit later. Write and see where it takes you. Treat it like an escape. Just shortly after, I caught a glimpse of those Ragu red sauce commercials. I've never wasted a second dwelling, or even acknowledging, those commercials. I'm crediting that advice I received tonight, but the sight of that tomato red bottle cut my next breath in half and suddenly I realized what I wanted to write about, and that I needed to start. My grandpa passed away on August 15th, 2014. When that commercial made its way to the screen I suddenly remembered a phone call I received from Grandpa Bob, that must have been two years ago. He called the landline and on the second ring I picked up the phone, unsure whose voice would respond to my "hello?" His cute, raspy voice responded asking if I still played guitar and making sure he knew what grade I was in, a typical, perfect conversation with Grandpa Bob. He quickly got to the point of his call and asked me what to do with Ragu. I loved it. Not only was my mouth curled up right in a large smile, but my eyes showed it, and my heart felt it. Grandpa Bob had poor eyesight and wanted to make sure he had the correct idea for his humble dinner. I felt extremely shook by a thirty second, family based commercial on a random Monday night. I feel thankful I can rest tonight with an easy mind, resonating on the humor and smiles my Grandpa provided me.