LXXII. A Tired Heart & A Lung Dart
"BOY! Pass me another lung dart... And don't stop your dancin'!" said my grandmother in raspy tones as she finished what had to be her 30th cigarette in less than 2 hours. As those words came out of her mouth, I always used to wonder why she sounded that way. I came to realize that it was from the cigarettes, not from her rubbing sandpaper on her larynx as I had originally suspected.
She was playful like that. Whenever I came over she told me that if I stopped dancing, so would her pacemaker. She had all these cute nicknames she used. For me she usually chose "boy" or "kid" or "devil child." But for cigarettes, it was almost a certainty that I could expect to hear "cancer stick" or "lung dart" come out of those wrinkly lips of hers.
For some reason she took pride in mocking cancer in the face. She seemed unphased by the fact that at least 10 of her friends had died of lung cancer. However, during that summer I she took me in I learned so much - how to mulch, how to paint, how to make a molatov cocktail - but the most important lesson I learned from granny was to never let anything stand in the way of you and what you love - especially not "scientists" or "doctors."
My summer spent with her couldn't have come at a better time in my life. Just before my parents left to spend the summer in Amsterdam, they told me that my best friend in the world for 15 years, my dog Scampers, had gone away to live on a farm.
My heart sank. How could he do this? My best friend.. leaving me to run away and go live on a farm? It was so tough to take. After all, he hated the outdoors. I wish my parents had put him down rather than have him leave me without an explanation or a chance to say goodbye. I vowed right then and there that I would never trust anyone again, especially not house pets cause I knew, out there somewhere, Scampers was laughing at me. It still makes me sick to think about.
But Grandma made me feel whole again. The chores she gave me were only the tip of the iceberg. I'd sit back and listen for hours on end as she meandered between sleep and story. "Grandma's little bartender" she began to call me as she'd call for a "cancer stick and a everclear shot." But making drinks and lighting cigarettes were a small price to pay for tales of jumping rope with Abraham Lincoln and romancing Julius Caesar. There was so much wisdom in that 4 foot 11 frame of hers that was just dying to get out.
I suppose that came to fruition as she did eventually pass on during one of her stories. The doctors said she died from a combination of "loving too much" and "lung cancer." But I'd like to think she had so much love in her heart that she gave to me and up in the heavens, she knows that by filling me with wisdom and experience, she left the world a better place, which is a lot more than I can say about Scampers the Traitor.
She was playful like that. Whenever I came over she told me that if I stopped dancing, so would her pacemaker. She had all these cute nicknames she used. For me she usually chose "boy" or "kid" or "devil child." But for cigarettes, it was almost a certainty that I could expect to hear "cancer stick" or "lung dart" come out of those wrinkly lips of hers.
For some reason she took pride in mocking cancer in the face. She seemed unphased by the fact that at least 10 of her friends had died of lung cancer. However, during that summer I she took me in I learned so much - how to mulch, how to paint, how to make a molatov cocktail - but the most important lesson I learned from granny was to never let anything stand in the way of you and what you love - especially not "scientists" or "doctors."
My summer spent with her couldn't have come at a better time in my life. Just before my parents left to spend the summer in Amsterdam, they told me that my best friend in the world for 15 years, my dog Scampers, had gone away to live on a farm.
My heart sank. How could he do this? My best friend.. leaving me to run away and go live on a farm? It was so tough to take. After all, he hated the outdoors. I wish my parents had put him down rather than have him leave me without an explanation or a chance to say goodbye. I vowed right then and there that I would never trust anyone again, especially not house pets cause I knew, out there somewhere, Scampers was laughing at me. It still makes me sick to think about.
But Grandma made me feel whole again. The chores she gave me were only the tip of the iceberg. I'd sit back and listen for hours on end as she meandered between sleep and story. "Grandma's little bartender" she began to call me as she'd call for a "cancer stick and a everclear shot." But making drinks and lighting cigarettes were a small price to pay for tales of jumping rope with Abraham Lincoln and romancing Julius Caesar. There was so much wisdom in that 4 foot 11 frame of hers that was just dying to get out.
I suppose that came to fruition as she did eventually pass on during one of her stories. The doctors said she died from a combination of "loving too much" and "lung cancer." But I'd like to think she had so much love in her heart that she gave to me and up in the heavens, she knows that by filling me with wisdom and experience, she left the world a better place, which is a lot more than I can say about Scampers the Traitor.
posted by Max Rays at 5:30 PM
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