Grandmother

I was playing Words With Friends—an online Scrabble version—last night. I got the most points in one play, 96, I ever have. Well, I ever have on my own.

When I was 11, we were visiting Dad’s parents in Scottsdale, AZ. Grandmother loved playing Scrabble. She had a vocabulary that was amazing, far above what most people do. She also didn’t believe in letting children win games. Even her firstborn grandchild. Who was only in middle school. And so adored her grandmother.

We were playing one afternoon, and she was way ahead near the end of the game. Daddy came into the living room, looked at the score, looked at the board, looked at her letters, and looked at my letters. He checked the board again, moved a few of my letters around on the stand, pointed to a spot on the board, and said, “Play this, here.” I don’t remember the word, but I do remember I had no idea what it meant. However, I did what he said.

I had a couple of high-point letters. The word used several of the bonus squares.  It also used all seven letters. Between those letters, the bonus squares, and the 50 extra points for going out, I had well over 100 points. Daddy walked off. He was probably smiling. Grandmother didn’t say much. I don’t remember her smiling. We finished the game. She was a gracious loser, as she was gracious in everything, but we never played Scrabble again. (That’s probably where Dad got it from. We never played Monopoly again after I won. Something about his railroads, but that’s another story.)

Other Games

She still played Scrabble with others. When we learned about “speed Scrabble,” she loved that and would play it with Mom and Dad and even me on occasion. She did the big crossword puzzles in the newspaper. In ink. Grandmother also liked the Jumble puzzles, where the letters are mixed up in four sets and the solutions to that provide the letters for the final puzzle that relates to the comic panel. Dad did too. Not a problem when they were separate. Not a problem when they were together either. Grandmother did them first. In her head. When she was done, she’d hand the still-blank puzzle to Dad for him to do.

By the time I was in college, our game had become gin rummy. She won most games. I started teasing her, telling her she cheated. I knew she hadn’t. She was a true lady and never would have. It was hilarious to watch her protest that she most certainly had not cheated! I’d grin. One of us would shuffle the cards, and we’d play another hand. Which she would win.  

Another Challenge

Also by the time I was in college, she was suffering from congestive heart failure. Doctors told her she’d make it a few months when they first diagnosed her. They lived only blocks from Memorial Southwest Hospital so she could get there fast when it got worse. I don’t know how many times we gathered there, but she lived about six years after her diagnosis. That was also the kind of lady she was. Always the lady, but you did not tell her what she would or would not do.

She had been a quiet, graceful fighter all her life from what I understand. She raised four sons and a daughter, and grieved the loss of another daughter at a time when losing a baby was far too common. She followed Granddad around the country—Texas, Louisiana, Colorado, Georgia, Utah, Arizona, back to Texas. I think that’s all, but I might have missed some. Uncle Don described the little white cabin they lived in on the ranch in Colorado. Let’s just say she gets a multitude of brownie points for staying there more than one night. They had rough spots like that and reusing Bounce dryer sheets because they had so little money, and highs of the huge home on the mountainside in Ogden, UT, and the property in Scottsdale with its pool and guest house. Wherever she was, she made she not only made the best of it, but she made it good for everyone around her.

Sometimes I would pick up Kentucky Fried Chicken or James Coney Island and bring it to the house for her and Granddad. She needed a wheelchair to go out because her breathing was so strained that she couldn’t walk more than a few feet without needing to rest. However, she liked to go to cafeterias, and we met them at Luby’s regularly. That gave me another chance to tease her because ever one to use proper table manners, she laid the cloth napkin in her lap. When we were done, we would wheel her out the door. One problem. Because she didn’t walk away from the table, we also took the napkin. Repeatedly. She was mortified. I still hassled her about having enough Luby’s napkins for everyone at Sunday dinner.

Driving Miss Madlyn

I was fortunate to have lots of one-on-one time with her, especially in her last few years. She couldn’t stay by herself because of her health, so when Granddad went to Utah for Uncle Tim’s wedding, I stayed with her.  We had a lovely girls’ weekend.

When Driving Miss Daisy came out, she wanted to see it. Granddad wasn’t big on going to movies, especially something like that, so she asked if I would take her. I was quite happy to oblige. When I picked her up, I reached for the wheelchair to take it to the car, but she told me we were not taking it. I gave her a look, asked if she was sure, and stopped talking. Teasing her was one thing. Crossing her was another. We went to Westwood Mall, the best nearby location. The theater wasn’t too far, but she was still going to have to walk some. I should not have doubted her.

I helped her out at the curb, escorted her to a bench nearby and parked in a handicapped space using her tag. There were plenty available, and I did not want to leave her alone any longer than I had to. She took my arm, and we started the journey to the doors. We paused a couple of times with her just holding my arm; she sat down on another bench, but we made it inside, where after a couple more stops to sit and rest to catch her breath, we reached the theater.

The walk would have taken me maybe five minutes from a parking spot farther away. I don’t remember how long it took, but I’d guess 20-30 minutes.  She never let on the physical stress she felt other than a change in pressure on my arm when she needed to stop. If she was ever unsure about making it in, she didn’t let on about that either. I think she had just decided she was going to do this with me and that was that. As with most everything else she did, she set her sights on where she was going and never changed her focus. After she died, it was quite a while before I could watch the movie again. When I tried it, I had new eyes with age and experience. It was bittersweet and still is—I watched it a few weeks ago—but I also smile as I see some of Grandmother in Miss Daisy, and I think about what a great day she and I had together.  

Just Like Her

When Driving Miss Daisy was on recently, I told the story about Grandmother to my Words With Friends friend. He said, “So that’s where you get it from.” No idea what he’s talking about; however, there’s something to be said for her approach to life as we deal with Dad. We have no choice about where we are, only how we react to it and work within it. We can do it with grace or pitch conniption fits anytime something goes wrong, which will do nothing to improve the situation and wear us out. We can adapt to his changes with determination or give up. Neither will change the outcome itself. He will not get better, and I know where the worse is going, but maybe it will lessen some of the bumps. I don’t have an exact focus, and I’m not sure what it should be or how to find it. However, as we care for him, we can come together, work together, ask for and accept help, find some humor, and make some memories for us.  Hopefully, none of that will include pilfering napkins (or anything else).