I recently placed an order with one of my favorite needlework shops. As I chatted on the phone with the owner, we were kidding around, and after a particular remark of mine, she said jokingly “You’re a little S#@T.” It was a little term of endearment. The funny thing about that is I haven’t had anyone call me that since I was little. My grandma used to call me that. Not the mac’n’cheese grandma, the other one. Of course, she called my little sister that more than me, but that was to be expected. She’s a redhead. I’m not. (And, don’t eMail me about how unfair I am to introduce stereotypes into my blog. My red-headed, little sister would be the first to admit she’s often a little s#@t.)
I didn’t spend a lot of time with my grandma after I was about 12 or 13. We moved further away from that set of grandparents. But, what time I did spend with her was really memorable. No, we didn’t bake cookies everytime we were at her house. She wasn’t much into cookies. I’ll have to tell you all about popcorn and Cheese Wiz another time, though. We played lots of games. Grandma was always finding new, fun things in magazines to entertain us when we visited. She tried really hard to make things fun, and to bring things down to our level. For example, Grandma had Grandpa cut the legs short on an old wooden card table. She recovered the top with green felt. We could then sit on the floor, indian-style (NO, this blog is not politically correct, but I do give credit to a people when they were the first to invent a particular way of sitting on the floor), and play our games, or have our lunch, etc.

I remember that during the cooler months, we would often go out to the silver Airstream trailer, parked on their property. That seems exotic – “their property.” Let me explain a bit: they lived in a small, mobile home, on five acres in the hills of Fallbrook, California, with the “immigrants” that came over the US-Mexican border hiding in the hills, and the snakes. They had a deck built around the mobile home, and a small yard with lawn, that was fenced. Just outside their door, there sat the Airstream. I don’t think they really used it much, except to stash “company” and to get away from each other. Anyway, one day when we were out in the Airstream, Grandma taught us to play blackjack and poker. I thought those chips were really cool. I think I must have been around 7 or 8. Grandma had her mug full of her drink of choice, and we had our root beer. The breeze blew the curtains in the Airstream as we sat around the little table that would convert into a bed at night. And, when I made a particularly surprising play of the cards, she’d call me a “little s#@t.” Not many people have such fun memories of their grandparents. I feel sorry for those people.

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