April 16th, 2008 | 22 Comments »

I always make it a point to visit my Grammie on her birthday every August 11th, even though it is a long bus ride away.

Every year, I ask her to hang on long enough til I get there, just so I can see her one more time. She already has her coffin special made. She’s perfectly willing to use it. Look at her, all grinning in her coffin. She’s a pissah!

I always liked to just show up in her dooryard and surprise her, but the last time that happened, I was afeared I would give her a heart attack, so now I give her warning, even though she doesn’t remember stuff too well anymore.My long-suffering younger brother and I decided we didn’t ever want to put this look on her face again. Would you? It scared us.

Hmmmm, seems like there’s a lot of free boobing going on in this family.

I’ve enlisted both my BFF’s from highschool to look in on her and cheer her up, and they are both fabulous about it. In fact, they love her too. Grammie seems to have more honourary grandchildren than she can remember names of. I just tell her to call everyone “Dear”. Everyone likes to be called dear. Except me. I cried the one time she couldn’t remember my name.

Grammie’s all fundamentalist religion, the kind that frowns on the Tool of Satan stuff I do, like palmisty, tarot, and even healing. I attribute that to ignorance. She had a hard life, and has to believe there is something better. It pains me that she fears for my very soul. Because I do not believe the exact same things that she does. Anyone who does not believe the exact same things that Grammie does is in great eternal peril of the soul.

When I was younger, I teased her more than I do now. She would just shake her head and worry about my soul, because I was all bad arse.

One time, a client had given me a souvenir shop voodoo doll that she had picked up in an actual souvenir shop in New Orleans. Not a real one or anything. She told me an amusing story about how she had punked an obnoxious customs officer in an elaborate joke, culminating with the revelation of the voodoo doll. It had me rolling on the floor, and needing to pee.

I told Grammie this story, about how she had enlisted various people to go through customs and inquire if this officer was experiencing ass pain. (I regret that Americans don’t use the much kinder term arse) Quite a lot of them asking got the interest of the officer, and when my client revealed the voodoo doll, it had a pin sticking out of its arse.

Then I ceremoniously presented Grammie with the souvenir voodoo doll and told her it was her birthday present. I’m so very thoughtful that way.

Poor Grammie.

As soon as I left, she burned it in the stove. Yes, that very stove in the background of the gobsmacked Grammie picture.

She never did know what to make of me. But you know what? She loves me anyway. And I’ve stopped messing with her. There are plenty of other folk to mess with. She’s earned a rest from my crap.

The End.

Posted in Grammie, old photos, rellies