Fake Eyelashes & .38 Bullets
Most of you know today as Pearl Harbor Day. To me, it will always be my Grandmother’s birthday as well. I could always remember it because it fell on a National day of remembrance. She has been gone a little over six years. I miss her, but not as much as I thought I would.
My grandmother, a few of you know, was a bit of…how shall I say???…loose cannon? You’re a pistol growing up, and if you achieve adulthood & are still out there tenaciously fighting tooth and nail, you are a warrior. I can tell these stories now that she’s gone. She was married for awhile, but her husband was a bit of a spendthrift (among other things, I gather). Once, he came back to the house for a “chat” & she pulled a gun on him. He scoffed that it wasn’t loaded, and she shot the dirt from under his feet 25 feet away.
That was the last time he visited.
Oh, I know that .38 pistol well. I pulled it on Johnny one morning when I thought he was an intruder. Luckily, he was expecting it & came through the door hollering, “it’s me, baby, don’t shoot!” I reckon he’s always known me pretty well. I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. She knew me better than anybody. I always think of the time me, her, & mom were sitting on the front porch breaking beans & mom said I better hurry up & get married before the government enlists the draft & grandmother looked at her like she had lobsters crawling out of her ears & said, “Jody, do you not know your own daughter? Amy would rather fight a war than get married!” And at that time, it was true.
She wasn’t scared of a thing except snakes. She liked her Jack Daniels, her cigarettes, her fake eyelashes & Chanel #5. She loved fall and hated cut flowers because they made a mess. She wasn’t what I would describe as classy, but she was the first to call me out for wearing shorts too short or a top too low. If I heard it once, I heard it fifty times, “Just where do you think you’re going looking like that?” More often than not, just Megan’s pool or White Star, but I would still have to change into something more presentable that I could be seen in & not be labeled a tramp, or worse. If all these young girls had a Grandmother like mine, they wouldn’t be caught dead at the Wal-Mart in pajama bottoms. That’s a travesty. She would berate me for all the weight I’ve gained, too. Not that she was slim & trim, mind you, but no matter. We’re talking about me, I would be swiftly reminded. And straighten up, while I’m at it.
So she built a house, worked second shift in factories, & managed to raise two children with a little help from her momma & daddy, who lived next door. Her crazy grandmother, Octavia, was the force from across the field everyone tried to avoid, or ignore.
Now that you have a feel for my grandmother, let me tell you why I don’t miss her so much (never mind the tears welling in my eyes as I describe her).
Because she’s still here.
After being diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, being the steadfast woman she was, she mapped out a game plan. She didn’t want to pass away in this house because she didn’t want me to be afraid to stay here alone. Not that I’m a scaredy-cat, but it would work on anybody’s nerves. So we arranged for her to spend her final days at St. Mary’s Hospice Home in Halls, a brand spanking new facility, complete with bird feeders outside every room. It really was a cozy place. Mom was with her when she departed. Everything was fine except….she didn’t want a funeral of any kind. It was specified in her wishes at the funeral home. She had already paid for everything years ago, of course, always prepared. She didn’t want a notice in the paper, either. Her reasoning being that she didn’t want everyone looking at her while she was laying there dead. She would want to sit up & have a big laugh with you, but that wouldn’t be possible. Well, selfish creatures that we are, we need an outlet for grief, so we held a small receiving friends, with no preacher. Grandmother loved preachers, but only the ones who weren’t hypocrites, so as you can imagine, leaves a minute percentage. Mom giddily staked out a corner, telling the guests that “momma’s gonna haunt me for sure, she didn’t want any of this…” And the guests would laugh lightly, unsure of what to make of our lot. We had a really good turnout, Grandmother was loved by her old coworkers & plenty of family.
Anyhoo, fast forward five years. Johnny & I bought my Uncle’s half of the house, and we’d been living here peacefully for some time. I had cleaned all her stuff out within a year of her passing, but I still occasionally run into pieces of her. (See accompanying picture of bullets in eyelash case)
My grandmother, a few of you know, was a bit of…how shall I say???…loose cannon? You’re a pistol growing up, and if you achieve adulthood & are still out there tenaciously fighting tooth and nail, you are a warrior. I can tell these stories now that she’s gone. She was married for awhile, but her husband was a bit of a spendthrift (among other things, I gather). Once, he came back to the house for a “chat” & she pulled a gun on him. He scoffed that it wasn’t loaded, and she shot the dirt from under his feet 25 feet away.
That was the last time he visited.
Oh, I know that .38 pistol well. I pulled it on Johnny one morning when I thought he was an intruder. Luckily, he was expecting it & came through the door hollering, “it’s me, baby, don’t shoot!” I reckon he’s always known me pretty well. I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. She knew me better than anybody. I always think of the time me, her, & mom were sitting on the front porch breaking beans & mom said I better hurry up & get married before the government enlists the draft & grandmother looked at her like she had lobsters crawling out of her ears & said, “Jody, do you not know your own daughter? Amy would rather fight a war than get married!” And at that time, it was true.
She wasn’t scared of a thing except snakes. She liked her Jack Daniels, her cigarettes, her fake eyelashes & Chanel #5. She loved fall and hated cut flowers because they made a mess. She wasn’t what I would describe as classy, but she was the first to call me out for wearing shorts too short or a top too low. If I heard it once, I heard it fifty times, “Just where do you think you’re going looking like that?” More often than not, just Megan’s pool or White Star, but I would still have to change into something more presentable that I could be seen in & not be labeled a tramp, or worse. If all these young girls had a Grandmother like mine, they wouldn’t be caught dead at the Wal-Mart in pajama bottoms. That’s a travesty. She would berate me for all the weight I’ve gained, too. Not that she was slim & trim, mind you, but no matter. We’re talking about me, I would be swiftly reminded. And straighten up, while I’m at it.
So she built a house, worked second shift in factories, & managed to raise two children with a little help from her momma & daddy, who lived next door. Her crazy grandmother, Octavia, was the force from across the field everyone tried to avoid, or ignore.
Now that you have a feel for my grandmother, let me tell you why I don’t miss her so much (never mind the tears welling in my eyes as I describe her).
Because she’s still here.
After being diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, being the steadfast woman she was, she mapped out a game plan. She didn’t want to pass away in this house because she didn’t want me to be afraid to stay here alone. Not that I’m a scaredy-cat, but it would work on anybody’s nerves. So we arranged for her to spend her final days at St. Mary’s Hospice Home in Halls, a brand spanking new facility, complete with bird feeders outside every room. It really was a cozy place. Mom was with her when she departed. Everything was fine except….she didn’t want a funeral of any kind. It was specified in her wishes at the funeral home. She had already paid for everything years ago, of course, always prepared. She didn’t want a notice in the paper, either. Her reasoning being that she didn’t want everyone looking at her while she was laying there dead. She would want to sit up & have a big laugh with you, but that wouldn’t be possible. Well, selfish creatures that we are, we need an outlet for grief, so we held a small receiving friends, with no preacher. Grandmother loved preachers, but only the ones who weren’t hypocrites, so as you can imagine, leaves a minute percentage. Mom giddily staked out a corner, telling the guests that “momma’s gonna haunt me for sure, she didn’t want any of this…” And the guests would laugh lightly, unsure of what to make of our lot. We had a really good turnout, Grandmother was loved by her old coworkers & plenty of family.
Anyhoo, fast forward five years. Johnny & I bought my Uncle’s half of the house, and we’d been living here peacefully for some time. I had cleaned all her stuff out within a year of her passing, but I still occasionally run into pieces of her. (See accompanying picture of bullets in eyelash case)
prime example, found last week when I was digging for batteries in a junk drawer I know I cleaned out forever ago. Anyway, I would come in the kitchen & a roll of paper towels would be lying on the floor. I didn’t think much of it until about the third time that week I had to pick them up. The way they are stacked on top of the fridge makes it virtually impossible for them to fall off. They wouldn’t tumble off due to vibration, either. Sometimes a month would go by & none would fall, other times it would be RIGHT AFTER you picked them up. I even drug a chair over to make sure there wasn’t something on top of the fridge causing them to fall. One night, Johnny was helping me in the kitchen & they flew off right into his hands. It was spooky, to say the least. Around this same time, I noticed my picture frames facing the wrong way. I confronted Lisa about this, as it’s a trick we used to play on each other. She hadn’t done it, and we had very little other company. These were pictures on the buffet that you couldn’t easily knock into or shuffle around by accident. After a few months of this, things quieted back down. I asked one of my good friends who is in touch with her spiritual side about it. She’d visited the house a few times in the past. “Well, I’ve always said you weren’t alone in your home. I can feel something there. It’s not a malevolent spirit, so I suggest you talk to her, see what she wants. Probably, she’s just missing you. I don’t get the impression she’s angry or anything.” This may sound hokey, but this chick grew up with a poltergeist in her childhood home, and later in Savannah, encountered many ghosts at her work and also her home on Gaston Street. I value her opinion, she can back it up all day.Like I said, things gave been quiet again for awhile until about a month ago, when Johnny said something snarky to me. It was a joke, but about six DVD’s came shooting out of the cabinet & landed all over his feet and in his path. “Sorry, Grandmother,” he said, without missing a beat. Grandmother would adore Johnny, if she had ever had the opportunity to meet him, but we didn’t date till after she was gone.
Evidently, she’s gotten bored of hanging out at the house & has followed me to work. The other night, Yankee & I were manning the counter. It was after five, and quiet. I was helping a customer in the pesticides & Yankee was at the counter talking to one of the warehouse guys. I heard a terrible crash of horseshoes, but that’s nothing unusual, farriers get their hands full & drop them. I get back to the counter & Yankee’s like, “Didja hear all those horseshoes?”
“Yeah! Who was it?” I asked, because there was nobody around.
“Nobody,” Brent said with a shudder, looking a little pale.
“I guess it’s your granny, because there was nobody near them,” Yankee said. See, I’ve filled her in all all the other occurrences. I shrug. Whatevs. I pick up the horseshoe & put it back in it’s bin. And not an overflowing one, I might add.
A few days later, I’m chatting with a lady about spirits while I ring up her dog food (don’t ask, I have no idea how we got on the subject). Yankee springs to life, eyes wide. “I forgot to tell you! She’s here now! I came in the other morning & all those brushes were in the floor!” She points. Brushes that have never left their wire basket home. Brushes that couldn’t just jump under their own power.
I hope this doesn’t prevent you from shopping with me. All old stores need a ghost
😀So this is why I don’t miss my Grandmother. Happy Birthday. Hope you have a good time, just not at my expense.
How I remember her. She always wore her hair like that, set once a week. Dyed jet black.
And I feel I must add a little rhyme she would tell and act out:
There was an old woman,
As I’ve heard tell,
She went to market
Her eggs for to sell;
She went to market
All on a market day,
And she fell asleep
Upon the King’s Highway.
As I’ve heard tell,
She went to market
Her eggs for to sell;
She went to market
All on a market day,
And she fell asleep
Upon the King’s Highway.
There came by a pedlar
Whose name was Stout,
He cut her petticoats
All round about;
He cut her petticoats
Up to her knees,
Which made the little old woman
To shiver and freeze.
When the little old woman
First did wake,
She began to shiver
And began to shake.
She began to wonder,
She began to cry,
“Lauk a daisy on me, this can’t be I!”
“But if it be I,
As I hope it may be,
I have a little dog at home
And he’ll know me
If it be I
He will wag his little tail,
And if be not I,
He will loudly bark and wail.”
Home went the little woman
All in the dark,
Up got the little dog
And he began to bark.
He began to bark;
So she began to cry,
“Lauk a daisy on me this is none of I.”
