Did you know Pandora had a basement? True. It's here in my house. And you thought her box was exciting. Whooee.
But we've managed to keep Hope from escaping out the door with all the junk. As we go through this monumental task of sifting through stuff by the years' worth, one of us will occasionally come across a treasure, something really gladdening. Rob located an old box of love letters . . . from him to me. You can be sure I'm dangling that box like so many sweet carrots in front of my face with the promise, Just keep working and once the basement's cleared out you can sit down with your letters and devour them. Then there are my formerly misplaced Honduran clay piggy banks, pure rustic comedy. This morning I found my missing Nick Drake cd. And just a little while ago, when I had about reached my wit's end with this dust-choking, seemingly never-ending cleanup task, I turned up a Top Ten list written on the back of a bank envelope that helped my humor revive.
Should I share it?
I don't know.
You might think it means something it doesn't. Like, that I'm an ogre.
But some of you will get it, because maybe you've had a taste of what long-term caretaking can be like, or you have a good imagination, or maybe you're just a little twisted like I am in your love abilities.
Okay, I'll share it with you, but first this disclaimer: I loved and I love The Ancestor and I did everything in my power to keep her happy, alive, and as healthy and comforted as possible. I did this up close and personal for just shy of ten years and I wouldn't trade the experience, or what we all gained from it. Things grew progressively rough for her in body and mind, and sometimes I really did wonder what kept her hanging on. And just—oh just!—eeeevery weeee now and again I found myself worn to a FRIZZY. FRIED. FRAZZLE.
So, are you convinced yet that I am non-malicious?
Oh, brother. What's the matter with me? David Letterman never feels the need for disclaimers. Here goes, and I believe Gram was listening when Rob and I chuckled at this over lunch. I would even venture a guess that she could also appreciate the humor in it, now that she's in a better state, her very self again, and able to spy on us. (I talk to her sometimes when I sense she may be close by, like last week when I got a new vacuum. Right up her alley, and I knew she wouldn't miss that moment for the world.)
TOP TEN REASONS WHY GRAM'S NOT DEAD YET
10. She's got to tell the "I wanna pizzit!" story from my childhood at least 267 more times.
9. She wants to continue developing her theory that guilt is the best motivator.
8. She is trying to prove to medical science that the human body really can survive on less than 8 ounces of water a day.
7. She is tirelessly conducting important research and gathering critical data on the dark chocolate/migraine connection, and using herself as the subject, conducting daily experiments to uncover which candy pathologically causes diarrhea.
6. Somebody's got to keep telling Georgia that she has lost her figure.
5. The Bloodless Chicken Growers Society has asked her to be the keynote speaker at their next conference. Her remarks are entitled "It's What They Feed 'Em!"
4. Freddy Fender's gotta get to heaven first so he can be there to greet her with her favorite song: "Before the Last Teardrop Falls."
3. There are still a few things left to complain about.
2. God is concerned about his job security.
1. No grits in the after-life.
P.S. Freddy was waiting when she got there. I hope he sang perty.