Grow Houses and Grandma

My grandma can kick your grandma's ass.

Although we argue that giving birth to ten children may call into question her ability to form the word, "No," or tell her husband to go take a shower, I think that it alone proves that she is physically superior to your grandma. Nine of her offspring went on to birth sarcastic little monsters, which has turned our family into a very opinionated, but cultish sort of affair. We literally refer to ourselves as "The Family," and get confused when a new kid pops out of someone's vagina, "Wait. Is that my cousin or my aunt? I am so lost. Someone, quick. Get me a flow chart."

Grandma recently broke her hip and when I realized that I hadn't seen her in almost four years I quickly logged on to Expedia and arranged a whirlwind trip. I packed my shiny sandals, my Chloe bag, my adorable cotton dress with the flowers and beads. I then remembered that I'd be embarrassed to glitter like a Vegas showgirl and quickly unpacked. I grabbed my flip flops, a few tank tops, some jeans and a bag with no label to make my Uncle go, "What's that mean?"

After flights, raindrops, hugs to my sister and her kids, my dad drove Trevor and I to the rehab center, i.e. nursing home, where my grandmother is staying until she can walk. I walked, unaffected, through the front doors, past the nurse's station and it wasn't until I crossed paths with a man shuffling his feet from his seat in his wheel chair that I felt my chest start to fill with panic. He wanted to get somewhere, anywhere and I wondered what he was escaping.

My grandma doesn't belong here. My grandma that wears winter colors and loves her house, that tells me about her new linens, the new plants, the roof the boys just put on....

I followed my dad into her room and watched her blue eyes grow wide.

"I don't believe it. If I didn't see you here I wouldn't believe it."

"Well, it's been a long time so I thought I should stop by and say hi."

"You should've told me you were coming. We'd have gone dancing, you sweet, sweet girl."

I stood back and wondered why I was worried. My grandma was wrapped in a purple velvet robe, her nails freshly lacquered a deep crimson, her white hair soft against her skin.

"Grandma, you're glamorous. I love your robe." I decided that the shuffling gentleman in the wheelchair was obviously looking for my grandma. She was positively the hottest grandma in the entire building.

She smiled and ran her hand over it, "Oh, this old thing?"

We talked for two hours. She told us stories about when I was a kid, when she was a kid, when dad was a little toe headed monster with a BB gun and a head full of boredom. She laughed when I told her Trevor and I were having trouble conceiving, "You should come and stay at my house. A friend once came by and saw a new baby crawling on the floor, 'Frieda! Another one?' I just laughed and told him, 'That one? Nope, not mine. Must be the neighbors kid."

She pulled her hands up to her face as she laughed, covering her head with her hands. It was gorgeous and lively and I missed it so much. When the conversation came round to my mother I saw her watch me sweetly, her eyes meeting mine as she studied me, "Does it bother you to talk about it?"

"Not as much anymore."

She smiled and I recognized her insightfulness. Wily, that woman.

And, then my ninety-one year old grandma leaned in and smiled, "If that doctor doesn't give me half a Xanax a day I'm going to start growing my own marijuana."

"What?"

"I'm serious. Those guys that grow so much are not smart. I'll just grow a little and put flowers in between. Peonies, I think. I'm serious."

"I know you are."

A nurse peeked her head in the room. She stood taller than my husband and weighed close to four hundred pounds, "Ms. Frieda, you need anything?"

"No, thanks."

Grandma leaned in again and whispered, "How would you like to wake up in the middle of the night to that?"

Trevor laughed so hard he started coughing.

She kept her voice low, "There's another one that's just as big as her. Sometimes they come in pairs. If that doesn't scare you, I don't know what will."

She sat back and looked at Trevor, "You're a good guy. She's a wonderful girl. Thank you for taking care of her. Hold each other every time you see a full moon and be thankful you have each other," she started laughing, "and that you don't live in Florida!"

Grandma kept us laughing and we giggled about her "chompers" that wouldn't stay put, the kids she raised and before I left I met her eyes, "Grandma, I know you like to get gussied up for pictures, but would you mind if I take a picture with you? I haven't seen you in so long."

Grandma immediately reached for the drawer in her nightstand where she pulled out the exact same make up bag I got from making too many purchases at the make up counter at Nordstrom. Out of it she pulled a deep red lipstick and spent a few minutes lining her lips, running her hands over her face and primping. We took a few pictures and before we left she held my hand and then grabbed Trevor's, "Don't worry about the big things. They'll take care of themselves. Take care of the little things. Love each other every day."

Trevor nodded, "We know. It's good advice."

As we left the room I eyed the shuffler in the hall and thought about telling him to just forget it, mister. My husband turned around, "That was an amazing conversation. What a wonderful woman."

I smiled. She is simply that. The last time my grandmother and I had a long talk it was the day after my grandpa died. We sat around her kitchen table and looked through pictures. We laughed, we gossiped, but neither of us ever shed a tear. Grandpa had a long bout with Alzheimer's and we had all said our goodbyes years before he left us in body.

I miss those conversations. I will be making more trips to Florida to sit at my grandma's table as soon as she can walk.

In the mean time I plan to keep my eyes to the sky.

I have a full moon to watch out for.

Grandma's orders.