My Grandma is the Shit

My Grandma is who I have to thank for my sailors mouth.  Since before I can remember, she would encourage, no, insist that my sister and I repeat after her as she pronounced her favorite profanities.

“Shit……  Say it Pancake!   Shit”  (Pancake was my nickname all growing up and still is to a good 65% of my family – it’s Pannekaker in Norwegian).  We’d do what she said and repeat after her if for no other reason, than to help the milkshake making process come along – we were tired from long days at school and she made the best frosty treats.

Cuss words weren’t even that exciting to us, but for some reason, she just loved teaching them to my sister and I.

Instead of chicken, she’d say “shit-en”, rather than asking us to be quite, she’d tell us to “quitcherbitchen” – or point to an illustrated wooden sign, hanging above the kitchen sink that read the same thing.  My grandma is a spit fire, to say the least, and after a nice conversation with her this evening, something that has happened more and more over the past couple years, I’d just like to acknowledge what a badass she is.

Tonight on the phone, she asked how my love life is, as usual, and as usual, I told her how it was.  It’s been the same for a couple years now – nothing too serious, but always some sort of story to share with her.
This evening’s story – or ponder, rather, touched on my recent purge that I’ve been initiating, specifically surrounding relationships.   Some of them are intentional, some are not, but ever since I made the conscious decision to shed that which does not serve me anymore, it’s been a goddamn rollercoaster (credit:  g-ma).

I explained to her this purging process and about how I’ve been “getting real” with myself about some of the relationships I currently maintain.  How I’m entertaining people (both men and women) who don’t necessarily make sense in my life right now except for to stroke my ego.
An email, a text or a call from one of them can make my day – and on the contrary, the lack of any or all of these, can have the opposite effect.  I’ve been here before, and it’s gotten reeeeeeeeally bad.  When you tie yourself to somebody else and base your state of being on them/their attention to you – suddenly your whole brain is occupied with made up stories who’s only outcomes are ones that hurt you…  shit can get bad, fast.  So i’m aware of what’s going on and I was telling my grandma this and all she said was this:  “We all have down times in our days – and that’s ok”.

And that’s all she had to say.

Great call Grandma – let yourself be sad, mean, angry or insecure sometimes. It’s these moments that remind us how good their counterparts feel. It’s all a balance.

I think being 86 brings you to an amazing level of both clarity and simplicity.
My grandma is amazing.  She practices piano every day, paints various rooms, furniture, fences, serves coffee and cookies to hospital patients, pays bridge like 50 times/week with her bridge bitches, watches eagles through binoculars, admires the lake from her favorite chair, yells at the tomatoes when they don’t grow, yells a little more at Freddie (husband) when he’s talking too much, sits in the hot tub every night, enjoys 3 ounces of sherry in the evenings, pops me popcorn, puts me to work, loves more than anything, hearing from her loved ones.  She’s got it together.

I can’t wait to see her in a couple weeks.   Thanks G-ma.   You’re the shit.

I love you.

Here’s where her heart (and mine) are some of their happiest:

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