I invented the Vonnegut Marathon partly as a way of symbolically honoring my grandfather. Now that the race is over, I feel like I did them both justice. The irony is that my grandfather was nothing like Vonnegut. He probably wouldn’t have liked Vonnegut’s books or understood my desire to read them. But the thing about my grandfather is that he always seemed to be proud of me for anything that I did and even if I didn’t do anything, so I imagine that he would be proud of me for sticking to the marathon and to this blog.
While the Vonnegut posts remind me of Grampa, I wish I had more memories of him. I have a picture of him in my mind, but it is insubstantial. I want to add as much color to it as I can so that it will always be with me. I may have to ask some of my relatives to share their memories with me.