Stephanie was a cat. She was sick to death of the neighbouring cats coming over and eating her food when no one was looking. She came up with a plan. She would lace her food with rat poison. So she did that. But before any neighbouring cat made an appearance, Stephanie’s dearly loved grandmother paid a surprise visit.
“So how you doing, Gran?” I asked on the phone.
“I’m good, dear,” said Grandma. “And how you doing?”
I hated having to do this. Grandma wasn’t my grandmother at all. Her grandson had been killed in a car accident and people had said she was on her last legs so why make her final few weeks miserable. So they volunteered me to phone up and pretend to be the grandson. I’ve phoned three times now.
“You sound a bit different,” said Grandma.
“I’ve had a bit of a cold,” I said.
“When am I going to see you again?” asked Grandma.
“We are so busy with assignments at university, Gran, that I hardly get a spare moment.”
“Well, you’re a good boy,” said Grandma. “No other grandchild phones or gives a hoot. So I’m leaving you my entire fortune when I go; the house, the car, the bank account. I don’t want anyone else to get a dime.”
“Don’t you think it would be better to share it around?” I asked.
“It’s all arranged,” said Grandma. “It’s all signed and sealed. Anyway, I’ve got to run dear. There’s a knock on the door and it’ll be a friend. We’re off to our weekly evening of roller skating.”
As I approach our street and see the thick black smoke I know it will be grandma. She was always playing with matches in the house. For example, when she moved into our house from having lived independently for many years, she tried to light the electric element on the stove, not once, not twice, but three times. At least that’s the number of times as far as we know. We had to hide all the matches in the house.
And now my mother has gone off to visit her own mother with her departing admonition being, “Don’t leave your grandma alone.” I had to go to the shop urgently to get some paper for the bathroom, and now look at that smoke rising.
I’ve just one more block to go and I’ll be home. I hope someone already has called the fire department as I don’t want to go into a burning house to look for my phone.
Oh thank goodness! I can see now. It’s not our house at all; it’s the neighbours. The emergency people are there – the fire, the police, even an ambulance. I feel sorry for the neighbours of course, but it’s still a relief. I can see the residents of the house in a group watching so I presume no one is inside.
There’s grandma!
Hi grandma! Settle down. Being over excited doesn’t help anyone. Now give me those matches.
A lot of photos in my late grandmother’s photo album have some person cut out with scissors. I asked my mother about it and she didn’t have a clue why. She said she thought the pictures were complete when she got the album when grandma died.
I went through the album carefully trying to find two photos the same or similar; one with a person cut out and one with the whole photo intact. I couldn’t find any. And then I found two that might be of help. It looked like they were both taken on the same occasion. It was someone’s birthday because a man was blowing out candles on an outside table. In the first one the figure standing behind the chair of the candle blower had been cut out. There are four other men in the photo counting the candle blower. In the second photo they are standing in a row. I can be certain that four of them are the same because of their hats and scarves. The fifth person could be the same as the one cut out but I can’t be sure. I didn’t know who any of them were. The one cut out is the only one wearing a hat without a noticeable hatband.
I showed the photo to my mother and asked if she knew who they were. She looked at it and said she didn’t know.
“Where did you get that photo from?” she asked. And I said it was in grandma’s album. Later when I went to look at it again the fifth figure in the photo had been cut out. It could only have been cut out by my mother because grandma is dead. I didn’t like to ask my mother about it because she sometimes gets quite cranky when I ask too many questions. She brought me up on her own. Apparently I was an “accident”, but I’m certainly pleased I’m here! I often wonder who my father might have been. A picture would be nice.
“It’s beautiful, Grandma!” said Lynette. Lynette called her mother-in-law “Grandma”. Gwen had said “Call me Gwen”, but it somehow seemed too familiar. There was a tension, a strain, between the two. Now with the arrival of Lynette’s first child, and Gwen’s first granddaughter, the title “Grandma” seemed to answer a need.
“It’s beautiful, Grandma!” said Lynette. Lynette’s mother-in-law had brought along a dress for baby Olivia.
“It’ll be too big for her,” said Grandma, “but she’ll grow into it.”
“It’s beautiful, Grandma!” said Lynette. Quite frankly, Lynette thought the dress was the most disgusting thing she’d seen in years.
“I got it at a second-hand shop in town. Preloved the shop said.”
“It’s beautiful, Grandma!” said Lynette. It had prints of burning buildings on the fabric. It was the last thing a little girl would want to wear. More suited to a boy. And what boy would wear a dress? And why burning buildings?
“I thought,” said Grandma, “that having burning buildings on Olivia’s frock would signify that we’re not caught up in this old-fashioned pigeon-holing of the sexes. There’s nothing to stop a girl from wearing a fabric with burning buildings printed on it. There’s nothing to stop a girl from growing up and joining the fire brigade.”
“It’s beautiful, Grandma!” said Lynette.
“Look, Lynette,” said Grandma. “I think this dress is the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen in my life. I got it because I wanted you to know that you don’t have to agree with me. You’re the mother! You bring the children up the way you think best. And I can help in any way you think best. I know you think this dress is as disgusting as I do!”
And Lynette giggled. “Well the dress is kind of disgustingly cute in its own way I suppose,” she said.
Grandma laughed. Lynette laughed. Their relationship has not been the slightest strained since. In fact, they get on like a house on fire. Lynette has even started calling Grandma “Gwen”.
It was Beryl’s birthday coming up. Grandma Nola went shopping.
“Have you got any of those summer hats that fold up tiny and you can slip into your pocket?” asked Grandma Nola of the shop assistant.
“I’m sorry,” said the shop assistant, “but we’re sold out.”
“That’s alright,” said Grandma Nola. “I’ll shop for it earlier next year.”
“My granddaughter likes to go hiking. Have you got any of those silver blanket things that fold up tiny and you can slip into it and not get hypothermia if you’re lost overnight in the forest?” asked Grandma Nola of the shop assistant.
“I’m sorry,” said the shop assistant, “but we’re sold out.”
“That’s alright,” said Grandma Nola. “I’ll shop for it earlier next year.”
“Have you got any of those things you wind when you want to recharge your cell phone and there’s no power connection? Like when you’re stuck up a mountain and your cellophane’s flat and it’s an emergency,” asked Grandma Nola of the shop assistant.
“I’m sorry,” said the shop assistant, “but we’re sold out.”
“That’s alright,” said Grandma Nola. “I’ll shop for it earlier next year.”
But what Grandma Nola didn’t know was that for her there would be no next year.
Little Red Riding Hood was skipping her way merrily through the forest, holding a basket of food that she was taking to her grandmother.
Suddenly a wolf appeared from nowhere.
“What big teeth you have,” said the wolf.
“There’s no need to get personal,” said Little Red Riding Hood.
“What big feet you have,” said the wolf.
“Now you’re getting silly,” said Little Red Riding Hood.
“Let me look in the basket to see what you are taking to your grandmother,” said the wolf.
“Go away,” said Little Red Riding Hood. “I hate it when little boys dress up and follow me around like a bad smell.”
So the Big Bad Wolf scampered off. He would try to find Anita Alder. She was a scaredy-pants. She always screamed when he gave her a fright.
We’ve just finished burying my mother-in-law. Such an occasion is always sad. She now shares the same grave as her husband, which is something they always wanted.
My wife wasn’t overly sad, even though it was her mother. Her mother was old and had had a good life; “a good innings” as the saying goes. She got a bit difficult towards the end. She could get quite rude and demanding.
We’ll plant a rose or something on her grave. That’ll be nice. It’s always difficult to know where to bury these bodies. We’re running out of room in the garden. I told my wife to be a bit more discerning in the future when she swings the spade.
Hi Sweetie. We’re going to have to put grandma down. She’s 114 and keeps having babies.
I wonder when you take her in if you can get the cat done at the same time. It’s piddling on the floor. It’s been a good cat. I’ll be sad to see it go.
To listen to the story being read click HERE!
So, here I am on the way to visit my grandmother. I’m the sole granddaughter. I’m actually – this is true – I’m actually taking a basket of freshly made scones. It has a little red and white check napkin over the top. I must look a little like Little Red Riding Hood! Except I’m not wearing a red cape. I’m just wearing old jeans and a cotton top. It’s a light pastel mauve, if you must know.
Here I am now at a pedestrian crossing. I’ve just pushed the button and have been waiting for about three minutes for the…
Oh my God! Look at the guy over there waiting to cross onto my side. He must be in his early twenties. He’s about as sexy as they get. I’ll have to pretend I’m not going to cross but I’m waiting here for something. Perhaps if I drop the basket just as he…
The lights have change. The cross sign is on! He’s crossing! I’m trying to look casual, like I’m thinking, like I don’t know what direction I’m meant to go, like I’m… This could change my life!
He’s here!!! He’s passing by. He’s unbelievably handsome. He hasn’t even noticed me. He’s…
…gone.
Oh well, as I said, here I am on the way to visit my grandmother.
Weave a Web 