Granny

I talked to my Granny last Sunday. I call her every week after I visit Prissy, her daughter, in ‘the home’. Yes, Prissy is in a nursing home. But, I really don’t have the wherewithal to discuss it today.

Granny is pushing 90 and she’s sharp as a tack. That being said, she’s also been on death’s door my entire 38 years. She had constant aches, pains, and ‘spells’. She currently lives with my uncle in Arkansas and I can honestly say the only thing wrong with the woman is old age and orneriness.

We all should be so lucky.

Granny is as tall as she is big around. She used to waddle through the house with one hand on her hip and the other on her forehead and make this “Sheeyew” kind of sound followed by “My head’s just a swimming. I’ve got to sit down.”

She’d then sit down in her towel-covered, pea-green Naugahyde rocking chair on the screened-in front porch and drink sweet tea with a straw out of an old peanut butter jar and wipe herself down with the wet washcloth she always kept in a Ziploc bag.

She had these double-knit housedresses in crazy 70’s patterns that she wore every day for years. She had one particularly ugly one with yellows and golds and greens. It was her favorite. She knew I hated it and therefore wore it every time she knew I was coming.

So, on the drive home last weekend…

How are you doing today, Granny?

Awe, Babe, I’m just no good. Granny’s been sick. I’m sick at my stomach and my head’s been swimming all day. It’s just so hot I can’t get any air. How’s yer Mommy, Baby?

She had a good day.

You know I just worry myself to death about her.

I know, Granny Honey, but she’s doing really well today. She was playing Bingo when I left.

…begins to cry, “Oh, I’d love to come see her, but Granny’s getting old and I probably won’t see her again this side of Heaven-Your Mommy and poor old Grandpa.

I know, Granny.

…sniffs. You’ve got a birthday coming up next week don’t you, Babe?

Yep

How old are you going to be? 60?

No, Granny, I’ll be…

Wait a minute. 60? Do what?

Granny made a funny.

60? Why, you listen to me, Old Gal. I’ll come down there and kick you ‘till your dead!

Well, I’ll say worse than that if it means it’ll get you down here to see me! I gotcha didn’t I! You get down here and me and you’ll go to Canada.

Ah, Canada.

When I was a teen, Granny and I did something together that we both knew Prissy wouldn’t approve of. (She got the nickname Prissy for lots of reasons, believe me) I don't even remember now what it was-she probably bought me some music Prissy said I shouldn't have. Granny just said that we better not let Mommy find out or we’d both have to move to Canada. It just struck us both as so funny. We stood in the gravel driveway and doubled over laughing. Grandpa had to come out and check on us.

Well, Babe, Granny’s going to let you go, Raslin’ (not to be confused with wrestling) is coming on.

Take care, Granny and I’ll talk to you next week.