I was a little “wine weepy” back in November when I wrote about my Grandma passing—so I’ll try to keep this short and sweet. I could write for days and not cover it all, anyway.
My Mammaw was 96, and I wouldn’t have been at all shocked to see her surpass 100.
She made the best macaroni and cheese in the world.
When I was little and we’d stay with Mammaw and Pappaw for a week during the summer, dessert was always a small Corningware dish of popcorn (the old-fashioned kind, of course) or PET ice milk.
One time when I was 11 or 12 and in the throes of adolescent sarcasm, I mouthed off to my mother in my Mammaw’s presence. Big mistake. My Mom was making me do the dishes (no dishwasher at Mammaw’s and Pappaw’s…to this day), and Mom said she was letting me do the dishes “out of the goodness of her heart.” I responded with, “There IS no goodness in your heart!” And my Mammaw stood up, wagged her finger at me, and said, “Don’t you talk to her like that, she’s your Mama!” And that was all it took for me to burst into tears, run out the door and hide behind the doghouse (which, looking back, it would have been more apropos if I’d hid IN it) and cry for a half hour or so. But of course she was absolutely right. And I know she would have stuck up for me in the same way if the occasion arose.
She was sassy as hell. She once refused to go to her doctor because she was “in no mood for his cuteness.” And imagine a 96-year old referring to someone as a “butthole.”
Is it any wonder I was crazy about her?
No comments:
Post a Comment