My grandmother has been on a roll, lately. I don’t really know if she knows what a blog is, much less how often I think about blogging about her due to her antics. I think she might be insulted if she knew; or she might be flattered. You never know with her.
I play the piano. Granted, I do not play very well anymore considering how infrequently my fingers touch the keys. I enjoy playing the piano, my back does not – hence the infrequency. I think I would play the piano much more if we had a prettier piano at our house. We have an upright Yamaha which has been through the ringer. Generally it’s still attractive. But the keys have stickers on them and it’s very out of tune, not to mention my artist aspiring sister, RJ, has literally buried the thing in printed out sheet music from emo sites. And there’s a plethora of disjointed piano books about to breathe their last as the pages tumble out of the stacks surrounding the lamp. The sound makes the dog howl. The cats meow irritably when it’s played. And the pianissimo pedal doesn’t work. Let’s just say, it needs a tune up. But I’ll miss it when I get married and move out. I’ve always wanted a baby grand. There’s a regular grand at the church that I just itch to play whenever I go.
My grandmother is slowly getting rid of her furniture by giving it away to relatives. My mother has had a heyday trying to get me to run in and claim my fair share, but most of what I would consider asking for has already been claimed by various cousins. Lately, she emptied out her dining room area of furniture and rewallpapered and painted. She used to have a Spinnet piano – which they don’t make anymore – and has some very fond memories of it. And she recently decided she wanted to get another piano to put in her dining room and play. Since I am the only unmarried grandchild that she knows still plunks the piano occasionally, I was recruited to help her out. She deemed that she wanted either a spinnet or a blondie baby grand. I started drooling. And when she told me that if I helped her find one, she would will it to me…I just about passed out. And as luck would have it, a piano show came to town.
I rearranged my schedule a little bit and recruited ToG to go out with me and a digital camera to do some research. And I woke up the morning of the show ready to go out and find a piano. My grandmother called. She wasn’t feeling well and didn’t want to go. And my uncle was in town. Yes. That uncle – for those of you who are asking “is it that uncle?” He’d heard about our plans. And he was trying to foil them. Not to be dissuaded, I offered to take pictures, get contact information, and then come show her. Which I did. We did, I should say. And then we went to battle. But wouldn’t you know it, the stupid uncle pulled the “that’s not using your money for the Lord” card – because obviously, buying a piano and willing it to your grandmother is a lousy way to use three grand. And he was immensely rude to her, telling her she was too old and lazy to ever play a piano if she bought it, that if she wanted eye candy then to buy a cutout piano, or if she wanted to make a real investment why not buy a “good” piano for $170K. And she listened to him. I was pissed. I was so pissed I could hardly stand it. Bye bye Piano dreams. Stupid uncle. Poor grandma. She’s decided to fill her piano void with a decorative table.
If you have ever met my grandmother, you’ll hopefully find this story hilarious. If you haven’t had the pleasure, you’ll probably find it only humorous and for that I apologize and strongly suggest you meet the woman asap.
About a month ago, during the painting and wallpapering spell, my grandmother turns to me out of the blue and asks “what is so darn special about krispy kreme donuts?” A little surprised, I didn’t know how to answer. So I just shrugged and said “I’m not sure. They’re supposed to be fluffy and sweet and delicious – more so than normal donuts. But I have never had a hot one, which is how they are supposed to be the best, so I can’t tell you.” She persisted in asking me for a description of them and I finally resorted to “I guess they’re fluffier.” Which all the KK connossieurs will protest about since apparently it’s much more than that. Personally, KK’s are a bit on the sweet side for me, and if I eat more than one of them in a sitting I start to gag. But moving on…
G’ma is a pretty curious person, so she decides that one day she’ll have my brother drive her to the nearest Krispy Kreme store in Issaquah and she’ll find out for herself. And then she promptly forgot all about it.
Last weekend, ToG and I went up to visit his family. And on our way out of town, we stopped at KK and picked up a dozen glazed donuts for my family. It occurred to me when I got home and was getting ready for Bible study that I could drop one of these little donuts off for my grandmother on my way into town and save my brother a headache and gas money should she ever remember her goal of discovering just what was so good about the little buggers. So I bundled two of them up in some tupperware (one for her and one for my brother) and went over the hills and through the sage to grandmother’s house. And after discussing the immigration protests and the news from the area, I pulled them out.
She slipped the lid off and inhaled – and I think was a bit surprised at how sweet they smelled. When I had reminded her of our previous conversation, she looked a little doubtful about their goodness and you could tell she was trying to placate or cater to me as she sniffed them and pinched them a little in trying to decipher their secret to success. Then she cut off a bit with her fork and put it in her mouth.
Her eyes rolled back into her head and she just began to suck on it. And I’m fairly sure she didn’t say anything for a full minute. I was surprised and a little concerned, my grandmother is a blood sugar nazi – she moniters her own like a diabetic even though she’s as healthy as a … you know… in that area. The first word that managed to escape from her mouth was “heaven” and the next were “don’t tell me how many calories.” Then when she had finally swallowed, she began to praise the fluffiness, declaring them melt in your mouth worthy, and thanking me for bringing her two so she could enjoy the goodness for another 1/2 an hour.
I almost didn’t have the heart to tell her one was for Cole. And when I did, she looked covetously at the remaining KK and said he had a limited amount of time to get back…or it was hers. I could see the near diabolical gleam in her eyes, and figured that was my cue to exit. I don’t think I saved Cole a trip at all. I think I created a monster.