TEN, there's a lot of freakin' reckoning going on... And, how dare you intrude on Grandmother's booty call!
I've just learned this morning that she has consented to have a meal with us this evening. After dinner, however, she's heading back to boyfriend's house to shack up with him again.
Change of plans. I've just learned that grandmother has bailed on us once again. She is uninterested in going if it's going to rain. Forecast says that it will rain all day.
I wonder if she knows we didn't plan to eat outside or take her on a picnic.
Hmmmmmmm. Boyfriend must have made a better offer.
Now I have to come up with my own dinner. Too bad Chick-Fil-A is closed on Sundays.
As I continue my descent into new levels of ridiculousness, I found myself looking forward to another Saturday morning at laughter yoga. White best friend chose not to go this time after selfishly making plans to volunteer to make lunches for disaster-relief workers.
I had RSVPed for two, so I considered my options. Who to take? I knew better than to ask black best friend. I'm actually forbidden to discuss laughter yoga with her after I told her about my first session. She also asked me not to tell anyone else that I went.
I asked a coworker, who would have gone but had already made plans to hike the Appalachian Trail. She said she has a little more than 2,000 miles to go to accomplish her goal. [Side note: the trail is about 2,175 miles long. She'd better buckle down and get with it.]
I finally decided to ask younger half-brother, who happens to be 15 and all-knowing. He agreed to go, but that was only after I gave him some misleading and incomplete information about what would actually happen.
I picked him up on Saturday morning and lost a few minutes trying to explain to father where I was taking brother. He did some head shaking and wanted to know why anyone would want to sit in a room with strangers and breathe.
On the drive there, brother articulated concern that we would be the only two not wearing bedsheets. I didn't tell brother that yoga and toga are not the same, as I did not want to destroy his "I'm 15 and therefore always right" self-concept.
The first kink in the plan occurred when interstate junction that leads directly to yoga place was closed. This forced us to go east instead of west, and I spent a few moments trying to think of the best way to backtrack. Brother offered to use my iPhone to map us there. Mistake. Mistake. Mistake.
Brother directed us off the interstate, which led us on a scenic journey through nowhere.
Here are some things that stand out from this venture: *navigation obviously not emphasized in educational institutions *brother unsure of purpose of compass or the letters that come up on maps (e.g., N, E, S, W, or more complicated combination of letters like SW, NE, etc.) *brother made comments like, "Are we the red dot or the green dot? I don't know which way we're supposed to go on the purple line. It just looks like it goes to the left, sort of. Are we going to the left right now?" *brother said we wouldn't be in this situation if I just had GPS (OR A BROTHER WHO COULD READ A MAP) *scenic journey allowed us to see such places as Teeter's Country Store (complete with the elderly in overalls on the porch), Pond Creek (hilarious name; even funnier that after I Googled it, I found that there are SEVERAL Pond Creeks in our great country. I mean, choose a name! Is it a pond or a creek?), the Taxidermy Super Store (I didn't know they still DID taxidermy), and long stretches of landscape with an absence of other humans *later confirmed the distance of the trip--left our county, went north into another county, then west into yet another county. Am checking into geography tutor for brother for summer *90 minutes after yoga would have ENDED, we arrived back in the city. Played it safe, took major roadways I know, and took brother for brunch at New York-style delicatessen *Further enhanced overall experience by visiting Target, which makes most people feel happy and comforted
Benefits of circuitous journey: *didn't need laughter yoga, as brother and I laughed plenty *was able to pinpoint gaps in brother's knowledge and ability to use technology without allowing him to think it had anything to do with him; supported his view that "iPhone is stupid and gives bad directions" *lengthy drive allowed brother to see rural sights [When I was growing up and my parents were still married, my father thought he was a farmer (9 acres but 5 tractors AND a combine). I spent lots of time in the middle of nowhere on other farms, on journeys to purchase new tractors, threshers, tillers, or state-of-the art plows. I was also dragged all over the county by my late maternal grandfather, the former long-time sheriff of our county. I visited my fair share of country stores and spend time with the elderly in overalls. Brother has never done or been exposed to these things, and it was good for him.] *now realize I should check with department of transportation for updates on interstate closings each Saturday before leaving for laughter yoga *remind myself that it's not unusual to drop $50 on simple brunch at delicatessen; knew this but obviously forgot until check came
The best news? THE DAY DIDN'T END THERE.
Tune in for the next post--An Afternoon with Grandmother.
(((((Number 8))))))) (Who we know is really a 10!)
Here I was, hoping to read more about scatterbrained prancing.... and I get a much better story instead! Although I will always wonder what a 15 year old boy would have though about the prancing...
Have you ever noticed that you always have a hankering (I lived in Huntsville for a few years) for Chich-Fil-A on Sundays?
Here I was, hoping to read more about scatterbrained prancing.... and I get a much better story instead! Although I will always wonder what a 15 year old boy would have though about the prancing...
I'm so disappointed that he didn't get to experience it, but here's the great part--he has agreed to go with me NEXT Saturday! It should be apparent that I still haven't told him what actually goes on there.
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Have you ever noticed that you always have a hankering (I lived in Huntsville for a few years) for Chich-Fil-A on Sundays?
YES! Some Sundays I feel like I just won't make it if I don't have Chick-Fil-A. I have even considered making advance purchases on Saturday evenings for Sunday provisions.
Of course now, on a Sunday, I feel like having Chick-Fil-A for the first time in YEARS! Thanks, Eight!
Oh, this is very good news... we get the story of the lost 15 year old AND he is still going to the prance! Isn't that a great word? It almost makes me laugh just to think it!
Of course now, on a Sunday, I feel like having Chick-Fil-A for the first time in YEARS! Thanks, Eight!
If I'm going down, then I'm taking you with me.
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Oh, this is very good news... we get the story of the lost 15 year old AND he is still going to the prance! Isn't that a great word? It almost makes me laugh just to think it!
I knew you'd like this news! I love the word prance, too. If you witnessed what happens in that room, you'd know that PRANCE is the only way to describe it.
On Friday evening, I received a call from grandmother with a summons to report to her home on Saturday. She had just harvested strawberries from her backyard garden, and she had plans for us to make homemade strawberry jam.
Here were my directions: *bring my own sugar (sugar ain't free, you know) *bring my own containers *be ready to WORK
After taking brother home from cross-state journey, I went home to unload Target purchases. I checked the weather and opted to mow my yard before the rain started. I called grandmother, didn't get an answer, and left a message about my plan.
Before I even got started, grandmother calls back and asked me what I wanted and where I was. I said, "Did you listen to the message?" She hesitated and said, "Yes, I listened to it! I just couldn't understand what you said!" I'm not totally convinced that she knows how to operate the message-retrieval function.
I received permission to mow before I came. Evidently, she had had the same idea about mowing before the rain because she had gotten her 89-year-old boyfriend started on mowing her yard before the rain began. Once she got him started, she could come back inside where it was cool.
Since I was going to see her immediately after mowing, I knew it was especially important to wear my protective gloves (I can't relive being questioned about blisters). Then I remembered that I had put my gloves in with my towels to wash. They were wet. I put them on and realized that wouldn't be good. I could just imagine myself with the hand equivalent of athlete's foot, and I couldn't take that kind of criticism and disbelief from grandmother. There wasn't time for them to dry because of the impending storms. Desperate times call for desperate measures, which is why I decided to wear my grape-colored chenille winter gloves. I figured, hand coverings are hand coverings, right?
Not so.
Where my gardening gloves with their suede goodness provide traction on metal of push mower, chenille is considerably more slippery on metal. At least the neighbors enjoyed the show. [Maybe I'll post a photo of said gloves on the alt some time tonight for the full effect.]
After I finished, I got my 5-pound bag of sugar and my containers (both of which were not to be provided, as you recall) and left for my special afternoon.
REGRETFULLY-------TO BE CONTINUED.
Brother just got dropped off here so I could take him to get his 20th iPod repaired at the Apple store. After taking him for the other 19 trips, my father refuses to take him any more. They'd be wise to stop helping him and refuse to repair it. They're losing money on this deal.
I arrived at grandmother's house to find strawberries already capped and ready to go. She was also quite a vision. She's 4'10" and slightly round. Her outfit choice was exquisite. She had on a faded Florida T-shirt, pants, a fisherman's hat, and knee-high pantyhose.
Boyfriend greeted me loudly and asked, "Where's your better half?" However, he didn't wait for the answer I fabricated on the spot. He turned, walked away, and returned to the recliner in the living room and watched TV, alternating between a major league baseball game and Ghostbusters. Not long after he settled in, he slumped over. I stopped chopping strawberries long enough to see that his chest was still moving. It was.
The jam-making was productive, and this was the day I broke the news about H to grandmother. She didn't know any of it yet, but it just felt like time to tell her.
Summary of homemade strawberry jam event: *2 cups chopped strawberries + 4 cups sugar = diabetic coma. I'll leave word as to the hospital where you can send me flowers. *finally earned grandmother's trust enough to chop strawberries unsupervised. My work was checked, regardless of the level of supervision, however *grandmother dissatisfied when I was unable to recall from memory my mother's recipe for homemade strawberry preserves [As a reminder to the reader, grandmother and I were making jam, not preserves. Recipe moot at that moment.] *recipe made 6 pints of strawberry jam. Didn't realize I was taking all 6 pints home. I also came perilously close to being in trouble for only bringing 5 1-pint containers. However, my adequate strawberry-chopping skills earned me the opportunity to borrow one of her containers *saw grandmother surreptitiously examine my hands for lawn-mowing injuries. None could be found, thanks to chenille gloves *lunatic uncle came home after being out with parolee friend. Prepared himself a 16-ounce steak at 4:00 p.m. *lunatic uncle fairly subdued. He attributed this to the 8 beers being pretty well out of his system *grandmother gave me a freezer bag with the 5 pounds of strawberries we didn't use. Gave me strict instructions to slice and freeze them that night. No exceptions. She told me that the strawberries had taken two years to grow, and her back was sore from picking them FOR ME. [Note to the reader: I did not ask grandmother to plant strawberries, harvest strawberries, or help me make jam from strawberries.] *after this talk from grandmother, lunatic uncle looked at me and said, "You'd better do it, Boo. You don't freeze them strawberries? That'll make you the anti-Christ."
Summary of grandmother's comments about H, my situation, and life: *her words, exactly: "He did WHAT?!" *"Now why would he quit that good job? That ain't right." *"He don't like that your mama died. I guess his mama's never gonna die, huh?" [I told her that I didn't know what kind of deal his mother had made, but she might not.] *"Is he depressed?" DING DING DING DING!! I didn't mention it, but even she goes there with her thinking! *"Try not to think about it. I know that's hard, but don't. It's wasted time." *"You need to take care of yourself. He can't take care of himself, so he sure can't take care of you. And don't even think about trying to take care of him. Just worry about you." *"I always thought he was strange." *"I bet it's nice sometimes being alone in that house. I sure would like to be alone sometimes. No men around? That sounds pretty good." *"You'll make it. Your mama was a strong woman, and you're a good girl. No matter what happens, you'll make it." *to make me feel better, I received some parting gifts. I left her house with 6 pints of strawberry jam, 5 pounds of strawberries, a 6-foot-tall dogwood tree sapling, 2 carnation seedlings, 2 purple coneflower seedlings, and two yellow flowers that she yanked out of the soil after I said, "Your flowers look nice."
Overall enjoyable day with grandmother, despite minor setback of perhaps becoming the anti-Christ.
