I suppose there is no better time to write a story about my grandmother than when I am feigning a headache just to buy myself some quiet time alone so I can think in peace without her constant, but well-meaning interruptions. By shutting myself into an empty room I am also protecting her from the rude exclamation to Please be quiet that I feel bubbling up under my determination to be a hospitable host and filial granddaughter.
Unfortunately, the want of a listener doesn’t stop my grandmother from thinking aloud, and loudly. Many times I have thought her muffled sounds from two rooms away were addressed to me, and so have dropped my work to present myself to her so she could speak to me directly. Most often, her utterances are inconsequential musings expressed while puttering about the kitchen about how we need more sugar, and no wonder we’ve run out because my mother works so hard, the poor dear, and has no time to go grocery shopping. Seeing me, my grandmother will extend this monologue into a litany of prayers for my mother and then for me, (May you always be happy, may God grant you success and wellness . . .) with her palms spread plaintively as she casts her eyes toward the ceiling. She will then hobble over to me and clap her hands on my shoulders and lock me into an awkward embrace, spewing prayers and good wishes all the while. When I finally pull away her eyes have begun to tear up, and so I must stay to comfort her, and am held thus captive for some time.
When I sympathetically offer her honey instead of sugar for her tea, she darts a sharp look at me as though I’ve missed the point entirely, and then begins her lamentation about how hard my mother works again, pretending she hasn’t heard me at all.
Recently I made the fatal mistake of not responding to one of her “May you be ______”s with an “Amen”. Considering how many times I have to say “Amen” when she starts with her prayers I thought it would save time for me to utter an all-compassing “A-men!” at the end of her list. When my grandmother noticed my scanty “Amens” amid the balmy hopes and prayers she showered on me, she halted and screeched at me, indignant: “Where is your AMEN? Whenever you receive prayers, you must say Amen!” That was the end of the prayers I received during that conversation, and I thought I was safe from them for some time.
Wonder of wonders, I was wrong. I suppose she couldn’t stay angry at me, because later that night, she shuffled into my bedroom to deliver more of her holy entreaties for me. Even though I know I could use the free time, this time, I couldn’t bring myself to spare a single “Amen”.
Alyzee the Intern says
Half-way through reading this my mother exclaimed “Of course we have sugar! You have buttons for eyes.” I think she took my suggesting that there was no sugar as a slander against her housekeeping skills.