Visits with the G-parents
We spent some time with the G-parents, as the kidz call them. There were my parents, George and Jean; Mark’s parents, Dave and Jonet; and the G-G-parents, John and Ruby. Remember when you were a kid, and you weren’t sure what relative went with which parent? If you were lucky enough to have full sets of grandparents, lucky enough to have aunts and uncles and cousins, it was sometimes hard to tell who went with who.
My last grandparent passed away about 10 years ago. My dad’s dad died seven years before I was born. Grandma, my dad’s mom, died when I was five. My Granny, the grandparent that made up for the lack of all other grandparents in my life, was still around when I was in my twenties. The last thing I did with her was paint her nails bright red. She never met my daughter.
When Grandad died (we were all estranged from him for most of our lives) Mark said I could have his grandma Ruby. In his thirties, Mark still had all four of his grandparents. He still has John and Ruby, who live in Creve Coeur, Missouri and have been a big part of our lives. Grandma is now mine. That oughta confuse the kids.
Grandpa (John) took me to the airport on 9/11, when I couldn’t board my plane to fly to New York for my uncle’s funeral. He came back to pick me up. We talked about that this week. Grandma sent us home with stuff (cookbooks and beer steins from Germany) that they don’t want to move to the retirement home, where they’ll go someday soon. They’ve lived in the same place for 25 years and now they’re getting ready to pack up and move out.
Lucky for us, the G-G-parents are going to come visit in November! They haven’t been here yet, and it’s a long, tough trip for them. I should really start cleaning now. Grandma’s got a tough white glove.