Grandma is doing well. I dropped by to see her today and she was pleased to see me as well as the pink wine I had brought for her. Grandma loves her White Zinfandel and she loves it even more when it comes in tiny bottles in a convenient four pack.
"Hot dog!" Was her actualy response when I presented her with the pack of pink wine. I was pleased with myself for making her happy.
Oh, how I wish I could make Grandma happy without aiding her in what could possibly be nefarious pursuits. When I went to use her bathroom, my heart sank. All this time we had been thinking that Grandma put ice in her wine to keep it cold and for her rationale that it cut the alcohol. Now, I realize that she put ice in it to water it down to make it last longer. At most, she goes through a tiny bottle of wine a week yet has been receiving a 4-pack a week for over a year. We never questioned the discrepancy in her wine consumption. I wish we had.
In her bathroom, to my surprise and dismay, were a couple of hundred tiny bottles of pink wine affixed with tiny rags to use as fuses to ignite her nursing home made molotav cocktails.
My shock pushed me out of her bathroom and stumbling into her closet where I caught myself from falling by grabbing the sleeve of an Alfred Dunner sweater with pockets sewn on the inside of the sleeves to carry the elderly explosives to her target.
I have no idea what Grandma is doing these days, but I will try to find out and keep the family posted.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Keeping Up With Grandma - The Beginning
Ever since Grandma moved from her small town in West Virginia and into an assisted living facility 10 minutes from where I live, I get to see her a lot more often. That is great for me but unfortunately the gaggle of family and friends she left behind and scattered around the country - and even world - do not get to see her and keep on touch like I do, so I decided to start a blog so I could keep everyone abreast of what was going on with Grandma (and share my love of run on sentences). I will be posting on a regular basis with Grandma news and updates so everyone can follow along with Grandma's every day life.
You're welcome!
To know Grandma is to love her, and everyone that loves her admits that she can be *difficult* at times, God love her. One of my most recent visits to the assisted living facility, which I will now refer to as "The Place" was interesting, to say the least.
Grandma didn't know I was coming. I didn't call first because if something happened and I was late or didn't go at all then she would never let me forget about how I promised I would see her only to end up being a liar who left her sad.
When I got to The Place, everything looked normal. A lady resident was sitting on a bench by the front doors, a group of residents were seated in the lobby doing crossword puzzles, and nurses were hovering around. I signed the guest book by the nurses station and took the elevator up to Grandma's room. I knocked. Nothing. I knocked again. Nothing. One more knock and I was about to leave when she opened the door.
"Cathy! What a surprise." She seemed surprised AND caught off guard that I was at her door.
"Hey, Grandma. I was in the area and thought I would pop in. Do you mind?"
"No, no. I was just playing the organ." A normal activity for Grandma.
I sat on the couch for a while and chatted and then asked what she was playing. Here is where it started to get weird: Grandma wouldn't say what she was playing and did not offer to play for me. Previously, every time I have ever been around Grandma and her organ I have had at least a 10 minute concert on her Lowry, her pride and joy. If she isn't playing the organ then she's playing the tape of her playing the organ with the hymns to be played at her funeral. Not just the songs she wants played - she wants the tape of her playing to be played at her funeral. I first heard it when I was eight.
She mentioned needing to get ready to go down to dinner (she likes to beat the people in wheelchairs for the prime seats) so I helped her stand up from her arm chair and started to leave. I said my good byes and she said hers and I left, pulling the door behind me.
Before the door shut all the way, I realized I left my coat on her couch and turned around to push the door back open. That's when I saw it.
Grandma was on one knee in front of the organ. That by itself would be shocking, but I was too distracted by what was in the organ. With one arm, she was holding up the keyboards and the other arm was sliding out the front panel on the base of the organ.
Inside the organ, in a compartment I didn't even know existed, was a cache of guns and Grandma was going for an assault rifle. I shut the door and left.
You're welcome!
To know Grandma is to love her, and everyone that loves her admits that she can be *difficult* at times, God love her. One of my most recent visits to the assisted living facility, which I will now refer to as "The Place" was interesting, to say the least.
Grandma didn't know I was coming. I didn't call first because if something happened and I was late or didn't go at all then she would never let me forget about how I promised I would see her only to end up being a liar who left her sad.
When I got to The Place, everything looked normal. A lady resident was sitting on a bench by the front doors, a group of residents were seated in the lobby doing crossword puzzles, and nurses were hovering around. I signed the guest book by the nurses station and took the elevator up to Grandma's room. I knocked. Nothing. I knocked again. Nothing. One more knock and I was about to leave when she opened the door.
"Cathy! What a surprise." She seemed surprised AND caught off guard that I was at her door.
"Hey, Grandma. I was in the area and thought I would pop in. Do you mind?"
"No, no. I was just playing the organ." A normal activity for Grandma.
I sat on the couch for a while and chatted and then asked what she was playing. Here is where it started to get weird: Grandma wouldn't say what she was playing and did not offer to play for me. Previously, every time I have ever been around Grandma and her organ I have had at least a 10 minute concert on her Lowry, her pride and joy. If she isn't playing the organ then she's playing the tape of her playing the organ with the hymns to be played at her funeral. Not just the songs she wants played - she wants the tape of her playing to be played at her funeral. I first heard it when I was eight.
She mentioned needing to get ready to go down to dinner (she likes to beat the people in wheelchairs for the prime seats) so I helped her stand up from her arm chair and started to leave. I said my good byes and she said hers and I left, pulling the door behind me.
Before the door shut all the way, I realized I left my coat on her couch and turned around to push the door back open. That's when I saw it.
Grandma was on one knee in front of the organ. That by itself would be shocking, but I was too distracted by what was in the organ. With one arm, she was holding up the keyboards and the other arm was sliding out the front panel on the base of the organ.
Inside the organ, in a compartment I didn't even know existed, was a cache of guns and Grandma was going for an assault rifle. I shut the door and left.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)