Friday, September 4, 2009
Coffee: It's Not Just About the Caffeine
Other notes on my grandfather: I know it's not a politically correct thing to admit, but one of my fondest memories was getting the high honor of blowing out Pappy's match when he lit up a cigarette. He had a nickname for each of us grandkids, and mine was either "Liza Jane" or "Grammaw" (because I was his oldest grandaughter). And, this is a somewhat ribauld memory that I hope doesn't offend, but I just have to share it: Pappy had a little wooden outhouse, about six inches high, with a little hinged door with a crescent moon on it. We were forbidden to open the little door -- so of course we did. And for our disobedience, as soon as we cracked the door, the little guy in there squirted us right in the face. And Pappy laughed and said that's what we got!
Our grandmother was even sillier, and loved to play games and talk with us children. I mean really talk; she told us our whole family history, shared with us what was going on in her life (and the lives of everyone she knew), and was really interested in what was going on in ours. And she was so funny! Even though she was just this side of tone deaf, Mommom loved to sing, and she got the biggest kick out of serenading us with songs she knew we didn't like. Remember the song My Name's Not Lisa? Well, I got an earful of that one for many years. I'd love to hear her sing it for me now.
(And it wouldn't surprise me much if I did hear it, because she always said she come back and haunt us just for fun...)