The “Bad Husband” Chronicles

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Posts Tagged ‘grandmother’

Mozziestar Flashback Entry, Year: 1991

Posted by mozziestarlet on November 17, 2008

Today’s entry is a special and unique one.  You see, today, November 17th, is my precious Grandmama’s 90th birthday.  She is truly a remarkable gem of a mother, grandmother, sister, and friend.  She moved into an assisted living home several years back, and despite the heartache of leaving her home behind, she found and made a home there.  I was fortunate enough to spend my senior year of high school living with her in her small, rural Mississippi town of only 7,000 people.  What I discovered about this town is that it’s a living example of quality, rather than quantity, of people.  The year I spent with her was one of my happiest, by far.

So, without further ado, I like to share “Mozziestar Flashback Entry, Year: 1991” with you all.  Enjoy and always remember to take every opportunity to show love to your loved ones.  Life is a fleeting breath at best, and we never know when that life could be extinguished.  As Morrissey says, “Sing your life!” After many years of repression on my part, I am finally singing mine.


9am: It’s Saturday morning and my Grandmama is peeking into my bedroom to see if I’m “awake yet.”  Like most seventeen year-olds, Saturday mornings are a cherished commodity for me filled with sleep, sleep, and more sleep.  I stir when I hear my bedroom door squeak open and see her smiling face through the crack.  She says, “I’m sorry, honey.  I didn’t mean to wake you, but I thought maybe you’d like to go with me to the pharmacy.  I need to pick up a few things.  Would you mind going with me?”  At first, I’m a bit grumpy for being awakened so early on the weekend, but I quickly shelve my selfish feelings and reply, “Sure, Grandmama.  I’d be happy to go with you.”


9:45am:  I’m in the bathroom preparing for a hot, steamy, wake-up shower and Grandmama is standing post outside the bathroom door, patiently waiting for me to hand over my undergarments for the wash.  What you must first understand is that my sweet Grandmama is an ‘A’ personality type.  She consistently sticks to her routine and refuses to allow any dirty clothes or dishes to amass, not that they even possibly could.  Naturally, this personality quirk often bugs me, but I soon adapt and realize it is simply her way of showing love and affection.  Without any request on my part, she faithfully cooks my dinner each evening, packs my lunch each morning, and bakes homemade treats for me and so many others.  She is deeply loved and cherished by numerous people, and I am no exception.


10:30am:  I’m dressed and ready to make the trek to the pharmacy with Grandmama.  Given her age and increasing frailty, I kindly offer to drive and open the passenger door for her.  One of the inherent beauties of her small town is that you can virtually get anywhere within five minutes.  There is no rush hour traffic, no honking horns, and only one fast food restaurant to visit.  When I first came to live with her from the hustle and bustle of Atlanta, I wasn’t sure I’d adapt too well to this environmental culture shock, but I did.  Not only did I adapt well, but, I went on to college the following year to Mississippi State University because I fell in love with the sincerity and goodness of the people there.  I stayed for three years until I transferred to a school back in Georgia that was better suited for English majors.  I realize that transferring to a school back home was a necessary evil to continue my education, however, I never lost the love and zeal for Mississippi.  Even to this day, twenty years later, I still yearn to return there.  I hope that someday, when the need to be in a metropolitan, job-intensive city isn’t required, I will move back there.  If home is where your heart is, my home is there.


10:40am:  Grandmama and I arrive at the pharmacy and make our way inside.  Naturally, it’s fairly busy being a Saturday morning, and Grandmama quickly spots and greets many familiar faces.  That’s another interesting aspect of a small town.  It isn’t easy to disappear or blend in there.  Given that Grandmama has lived her entire life in this rural town, she knows virtually everyone.  An innocent, twenty-minute trip to the pharmacy always results in a two-hour outing for her, which is fine by me.  We agree to split up briefly in search of our own personal items, and meet up twenty minutes later at the checkout counter.


11am:  Grandmama and I reconvene with our toiletries in hand near the front register.  Feeling the need to wear my “Instigator” hat as I often do, I decide to pull a prank on her.  She briefly meanders off to talk to a friend, and while she’s away, I quietly slip an economy-sized pack of condoms into her buggy.  I prepare myself for the cackling (on my part) that will soon emerge, carefully constructing a mental picture of her face when she discovers this foreign item.  After ten minutes, she returns to her buggy, with me standing beside it.  There are at least five people in front of us in line, and naturally, they all begin talking to one another as they are waiting.  I hold my breath silently, knowing it’s only a matter of time until another person spots what is in Grandmama’s buggy.  And then, just like the beginning of a beautiful opera, I notice the lady in front of us peering down into Grandmama’s buggy, completely stunned when she sees the pack of condoms.  The lady swiftly retreats in disbelief and abject horror, and my Grandmama says to me, “Huh, that’s weird.  She is usually so friendly.  I hope everything is okay with her.”  I sheepishly agree and reassure her that I’m sure she is fine, but most likely needs to get home to tend to her husband and children.  Grandmama shrugs in agreement and makes her way to unload her items on the counter.


As she’s stacking the items side by side, she picks up the box of condoms and stares blankly at them.  I watch in amusement, realizing that she’s having trouble discerning what the item actually is.  After a few minutes, the light blub turns on at a full 1,000 watts, and she looks at me.  She says, “How in the world did these get in here?  Are these what I think they are?”  Keep in mind, readers, that my Grandmama became a widow nearly eleven years prior and certainly didn’t seek a replacement for my amazing Grandfather.  Given this, condoms are the last thing she would readily recognize, let alone purchase.  I pause for a moment and respond, “Oh yeah, those are mine.  I really need them.  You don’t mind, do you?”  At first, she is puzzled and perplexed by my question, having been completely taken off guard.  She quickly replies, “Oh, good heavens, Mozzie.  I know you are kidding with me.  Aren’t you?”  I successfully maintain a serious façade and tell her, “What’s the matter?  I need them.  At least I’m being safe, right?”  She quickly arms herself with the ‘I’m gonna call your Mother’ expression, before I lose my composure and begin to laugh hysterically.  She is instantly relieved, knowing that I’ve once again succeeded in pulling her leg, and she begins to chuckle in return.  I pick up the box of condoms, place them back on the rack, and help her bag her items.  On our way back to the car, I cannot resist the urge to hug her.  As I open the passenger door for her, I quickly grab her and shower her with affection.  As always, she reciprocates, as she is never first to let go of a hug.  I adore her for this, and still do.


So, precious Grandmama, Happy 90th Birthday to you.  I wish I were there to celebrate with you, but my heart and soul are with you always.  Thank you for your kindness, your love, and your unfailing support.  You have selflessly contributed to the person I am today, and I am so grateful to you for it.  If, by some struck of luck or fortune, I happen to live to see my 90th year, I can only hope that I will have made such an impact on others as you have.  There could not possibly be any greater accomplishment.

With love from your granddaughter,




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