Gram

My Grandmother passed away 2 weeks ago. She had been ill for years, and these last few years have been full of trips to the hospital, convalescent home, doctors, and misery. Since Memorial Day she’s been going steadily downhill. Loss of appetite and sick for a week, a trip to the emergency room, admitted to the hospital, transfer to a convalescent home, back to the emergency room 36 hrs after going to the convalescent home, another admission to the hospital for three weeks while they searched for something to fix. Transferred permanently to a nursing home in July, three more trips to the hospital through the fall, an infection that caused such severe dementia she was sent to a mental health facility on Christmas Day. Four weeks later transferred back to the nursing home. Admitted to the hospital the last week of February, and we finally said enough. Enough poking and prodding. Enough strapping her to a bed to give her treatment she didn’t want. She was sent back to the nursing home and died 5 days later on March 1st.

For most people, the word “grandmother” conjures up images of a 50’s wife in an apron, baking cookies and knitting. Not for me. Yes, my gram made cookies. Yes, she knitted, crocheted, and quilted. But to me, she was so much more. She was one of the most interesting people I’ve ever spent time with; she was irreverent, funny, crafty, intellectual, and a little bit kooky.

When I was little, my mom and I lived on the second floor of my grandparent’s two family house. I saw both of my grandparents almost every day until we moved out when I was nine. I spent Saturday mornings with my grandmother watching Nova, Dr. Who, and In Search Of on PBS.

Things I will always remember about her:

• She loved Star Trek
• She found people who were a little different interesting
• She was always learning, if she didn’t know about something, she read about it, or tried to learn how to do it. She was always a student at heart.
• Her favorite artist was Georgia O’Keefe, and she was the first person to explain to me why the painter was so “controversial”. (Which is a very comfortable conversation to have with your grandmother - NOT!)
• She loved art, history, and music.
• She was fascinated by Native American culture
• She was an avid reader, and always wanted to know what I was reading
• Out of all my friends who met her, Ellen held a special place in her heart, she always asked about her and Steven.
• She loved Scottie, and held his hand in our wedding photos
• She made the best apple pies, and mine are only ½ as good as hers, even though it’s the same recipe
• She taught me the secret to great pie crust – ice cold water. Put ice cubes in the water to keep it cold. Don’t overwork the dough.
• She always encouraged my creative endeavors, even when no one else understood (building a TARDIS out of a huge cardboard box, egg cartons, and lots of odds and ends when I was 6 or 7 was a worthwhile pursuit for a child.. Sorry Mom, it wasn’t a spaceship, it was a TARDIS. For those who don’t know what it is – go ahead and google. You’ll know I was a strange kid!)
• She taught me to make dyes from fruits and vegetables when I was 10, and we used the dye to make tie-dyed shirts.
• She had the greenest thumb in CT – her tomatoes were legendary, and her rose bushes were beautiful.
• She taught me how to plant tulip bulbs. The points go toward the top, like praying hands.
• She made the driest turkey in the world, much to the amusement of the rest of the family. I swear, she would put the turkey in the oven at 5:00pm the night before at 200 degrees. When my aunt started cooking Thanksgiving dinner, Gram would never fail to call her turkey “wet”. To the rest of the world, that would be known as MOIST
• She made absolutely magic chicken soup. It could cure whatever ailed you.
• Whenever she had company, she always wore lipstick. Bright. Red. Shocking. Lipstick. I can’t remember how many I bought her over the years, trying to find her perfect shade of “true red”.
• She always had a million crafting projects going at once.
• She loved UCONN Women’s basketball, and loved watching UCONN/TN games

I know the last few years though her illnesses, especially at the end were extremely tough on everyone in the family. It was hard to watch her when she just wasn’t herself anymore, and her illnesses took away her eyesight, her mobility, her memory, her books, her crafting, her projects, her gardening, and every activity she loved. But I’ll always remember her as she was when I was growing up. I miss you Gram.

Special thank yous to Rosehawk and Chey, who are always there. Always, usually with chocolate and alcohol in hand. Love you guys.

Good night dog poop!

First, apologies to Chey. I do have enough of a nodding acquaintance with social niceties to know that yelling "Crap! Crap! Crappity Crap! I've got a, um, well, a mess to deal with here" and hanging up is not the appropriate way to end a pleasant conversation with a friend.

But let me explain. The Baron has been having a really tough time at work. Very tough time at work. He works at a small start up company that takes support calls for *insert an in depth explanation of some form of technology that helps many companies here*. There are only 3 guys that take the calls, and they bust their patooties every day. Nights, weekends, you name it, they're on it. One of the guys is out on medical leave, so the Baron and his coworker are each putting in their normal days/nights/weekends/ plus taking on the workload of the guy out of the office.

Last night we had plans to go out with Chey and the Salesman for dinner and a movie. We were psyched, it's been months, and they are our Most Preferred Couple (just think Most Favored Nation status). It's 5:10 pm, I've just finished putting the dog in the kitchen for the night, we're about to leave. The phone rings. It's a support call. I call MPC and inform them we may be late. At 5:45, I know it's going to be a late night for the Baron, I call MPC back and make our apologies, our big night out is not going to happen. The Baron finally finishes up on the support call around midnight.

At 9:00 am, the Baron is back at it - same customer, still working through the issue. I say to myself "Self, you should do something nice for the Baron. It's only been 2 days that the other guy has been on medical leave, and it's going to be a long 6-8 weeks for the Baron". I start prepping homemade french onion soup, the Baron's favorite meal. It's something I don't make very often, because it's over an hour of prep, and 4 hours cook time. Luckily, I had plenty to do while the soup is simmering, because Wuffles (our adorable bulldog) has suddenly developed an interdigital cyst, and I have to soak his foot in warm epsom salt treatments until it clears up.

At 6 pm, we sit down to eat. I'm tired, I'm cranky, I've barely seen Baron all weekend, I smell like wet dog, and I've been diligently cleaning the bathroom, because the foot soak inevitably leads to Wuffles running around the bathroom soaking wet and getting in to general trouble while I try to calm him down. And dammit, I do not want to step on leftover dog cookies in the bathroom, so in addition to wiping down the tub and the walls each time I soak his foot, I have to sweep and spot clean the floor. But I digress... dinner was wonderful, the Baron was extremely appreciative, and we've settled in to watch Bracketology, because it's March Madness, baby!

And the phone rings. I see it's Chey, I pick up, and we have a very nice chat while her kids are doing their nightly bath routine, and I'm picking up in the kitchen (because I apparently cannot cook without making a huge mess). I go to put leftover french onion soup in a container for tomorrow night's dinner... and "Crap! Crap! Crappity crap! I've got a, um, well, a mess to deal with here".

I managed to spill at least 4 cups of french onion soup while transferring it to tupperware. Not only did I lose half the soup, it spilled between the stove and the counter. It's only a quarter inch space, but it all flooded in to the tiny crevice. Fuck! That means pulling out the stove to clean up the mess. Now I know I'll never win the Good Housekeeping Award, but I usually clean behind the stove every 2-3 months. Same with the fridge. But since Dad died, well let's just leave it at... I have clean clothes on every day, I have vacuumed the floors, and the counters and the toilets are usually fairly clean, but not much else has been done. I need to do serious spring cleaning, in the worst way. All of this is running through my head as I slowly pull the stove from the wall and the counters.

Delicately put.. ugh. Probably a half pound of dog kibble, dog and cat hair, 2 tea lights, some baby's breath, and an unopened apricot lip gloss. Mixed in with french onion soup. Shoot me.

This weekend has been a bust. To paraphrase Chey's littlest one, "Good Night dog poop". I'm pretty sure I'll be seeing you again in the morning. Right now I'm going to take a Lorazepam and a bottle **ooopsie, I mean glass** of wine. I can't wait to see what tomorrow brings!