On Saturday morning, I did something completely uncharacteristic of me. I flew by the seat of my pants. I threw caution to the wind. I was SPONTANEOUS.
I know. It makes me hyperventilate a little just recalling it.
Mimi and Bops were driving to Beaumont to attend a family wedding. I wasn’t invited to the wedding because it was like my second cousin twice removed, or something like that, who was getting married. Honestly, I didn’t even know she existed, much less that she was getting married.
I knew that Mimi and Bops were leaving Saturday morning and, at one point earlier in the week, had contemplated going with them so I could visit my grandmother, Nanny. Then, on Thursday night, we had the whole throwing up in my bed debacle with Caroline and so I completely forgot about it.
Because once someone throws up in your bed, you pretty much forget how to breathe, much less anything else. My life was consumed with beach towels and buckets and dry heaves. And I was the one with the dry heaves because, seriously, I just don’t do well with throw up on my bed linens and my pajamas. Or within a 5 mile radius.
Then, Saturday morning arrived and Caroline had been feeling fine for over 24 hours. So, I called Mimi and Bops and asked if we could ride with them. Nanny is my only living grandparent and, since Beaumont is about a 5 hour drive, I don’t see her very often. It was the perfect opportunity to visit without having to make the trip alone with Caroline.
By the time I decided to go, I had about 20 minutes to get ready. Bops has never been accused of being patient when it comes to time schedules, so I threw stuff in a bag and headed out the door. I spent about the first hour in the car wondering why on earth I thought this was a good idea.
Caroline was whining. I was whining. And have I mentioned I tend to get really carsick? I do. I get really carsick.
Serious carsick issues. I am a pleasure to have in the car.
And constantly digging through my purse for snacks, juice, and DVD’s to put in the DVD player was not helping my carsickness. At one point I seriously wondered if I should just have Bops drop us off on the side of the road and call a cab to come pick us up and take us home.
In the words of Will Ferrell as Ron Burgundy in “Anchorman”, I immediately regretted my decision.
But then, we stopped at DQ in the booming metropolis of Weimar, Texas and a Reeses’ Peanut Butter Cup Blizzard made the world seem like a better place. Never underestimate the restorative healing powers of chocolate mixed with peanut butter. Hello, my old friend.
Finally, we arrived in Beaumont. I knew we were getting close because I could smell the unmistakable smell of refinery in the air. Not to mention the immediate increase in humidity.
Caroline and I walked into Nanny’s house and I was instantly so glad we made the trip. My parents have both moved around over the years, but Nanny’s house has been the same for as long as I can remember. It smells the same, it looks the same, and it sounds the same. Only in Nanny’s house will you hear 26 different clocks going off all at the same time.
Nanny is my mama’s mama. That side of the family is almost exclusively female. I have one male cousin, but all the rest of us are girls. And as we’ve had families of our own, all the girls have given birth to girls. Nanny’s house has always been a paradise for little girls.
Just look.
Caroline is her first great-grandchild in 20 years, but the toy closet remains the same. A wealth of Barbies, baby dolls, jewelry, and sequined outfits. And the books. There are so many books with pictures that immediately transport me back to childhood.
But this is the best of all. Caroline discovered the electric organ.
Not many people have electric organs, but I still remember when Nanny got hers. I was about 6 years old, and my sister and I would dress up in Nanny’s nightgowns, accessorize with more costume jewelry than you can imagine, and put on shows that were worthy of Tonight Show performances. Think Bette Midler in “The Rose”. Janis Joplin singing “Piece of My Heart”.
Of course, we weren’t nearly that cool and there were no mind-altering drugs involved.
Our go-to number was “Little Brown Jug” because my sister does a mean imitation of a drunk with hiccups. And every now and then, we’d move on from drinking songs and pull out some gospel numbers and have ourselves a revival. I can still hear Amy telling all the “people” that they “better quit their sinnin’ because they were goin’ to hell”.
Grace wasn’t really our forte.
Caroline didn’t hold any revivals or sing any drinking songs, but she did learn how to play some chords with a Samba beat accompaniment. It was a treasure.
And so was seeing Nanny.
We should all look this good at 89 years old.