Meet My Grandma

Her name was Arlene.

I've been thinking about her a lot the last couple days.

If you saw what I wrote about the older lady I met at the restaurant the other day, I guess this is her fault.

She helped me read my bill, held my hand for a minute and gave me a cookie before she left.

Wasn't anything big.

But for some reason I kept thinking about it.

Then it finally hit me.

She reminded me of my grandma.

Didn't look like her or anything. It was just the way she did something nice for me and didn't make a big deal about it.

That was kinda how Grandma was.

So this morning I did something I haven't done in years.

I went out to the cemetery.

Took Tucker with me.

Grandma was buried back home in Pennsylvania where she grew up. I've still got family ties up that way and quite a few people I do construction work for. I'm up there pretty regularly.

Had some work to take care of in PA this week anyway, so I took Tucker along. Figured while we were up there we'd go see Grandma.

She died when I was 17 so she never got to meet him. That's bothered me from time to time over the years. With her already being on my mind I figured it was as good a time as any to take him out there.

I'm not really into all that sentimental stuff.

We probably stayed five minutes.

I stood there for a little bit. Tucker took a picture of me by her stone and then we left.

That was it.

But I've still been thinking about her all day.

Just random stuff.

Her cornbread.

Those damn potatoes.

Fishing.

Her yelling at me.

Stuff I haven't thought about in years.

So I figured I'd write some of it down.

I'm not much of a writer so I don't really know where this is going.

My grandma's name was Arlene Durst. She was my dad's mom.

My grandpa died when I was pretty young. I remember him a little bit. Not much. Just little pieces of stuff.

Most of what I remember is Grandma being by herself.

She didn't have much money.

I didn't know that when I was a kid. Or maybe I knew it but didn't really understand what it meant.

Kids don't think about that shit.

I just knew sometimes I'd ask for something and I didn't get it.

I used to ask her to make me a pie.

She'd make cornbread.

I hated that damn cornbread.

Not even sure I really hated the cornbread. I think I was just pissed because I asked for pie and got cornbread.

She made it all the time.

I understand that now.

Cornbread was cheap. She knew how to make it and it filled you up.

Pie cost more money.

Pretty simple when you're 43.

Wasn't so simple when you're a kid and you want pie.

Funny part is I'd give about anything to eat some of that cornbread now.

She grew potatoes too.

A lot of potatoes from what I remember.

She'd make home fries in the morning.

I don't really remember her sitting down and eating breakfast with me much. Maybe she did and I just don't remember it.

Mostly I remember me eating and her doing something.

That woman was always doing something.

Outside. In the garden. Cleaning. Working around the house.

She worked all the damn time.

Probably where I got some of that from.

She could be mean too.

And I'm not gonna pretend she couldn't just because she's dead.

Grandma could be mean as hell.

She'd yell at me. Didn't have much patience. Definitely wasn't interested in hearing me feel sorry for myself.

There were times when I was a kid I wasn't even sure she liked me.

That's the truth.

She wasn't somebody who walked around telling you she loved you all the time either.

At least that's not what I remember.

I don't remember a bunch of hugs and all that stuff.

I remember breakfast.

I remember cornbread.

I remember watching her work.

And I remember fishing.

Grandma was the first person who ever took me fishing.

I don't remember everything about the first time. Wish I did.

I just remember going with her.

Back then it was just fishing.

Never thought about the fact that she had plenty of shit to do at home and she took me anyway.

I still fish all the time.

Never really thought much about the fact that she's probably the reason I started.

Like I said, she died when I was 17.

She never knew me as a grown man.

Never got to see me become a dad.

Never met Tucker.

I guess that's probably why I wanted him to go with me this morning.

Don't know what she would've thought about me now.

She'd probably tell me I need a haircut.

Probably tell me to quit smoking too.

Then she'd find something that needed fixed.

I don't really know what I'm trying to say with all this.

Guess I understand her better now than I did when she was alive.

When I was a kid I thought because she didn't say stuff maybe she didn't care.

Looking back, that was probably pretty stupid.

Nobody gets up and makes breakfast for a kid every morning because they don't care about him.

Nobody takes a kid fishing when they've got a hundred other things they could be doing because they don't care.

Even the damn cornbread makes sense now.

I wanted pie.

She probably couldn't afford pie.

But she could make cornbread.

So she made me cornbread.

Took me a long time to figure some of this stuff out.

Wish I could tell her I finally did.

Didn't mean to write this much.

Anyway.

That's my grandma.

Arlene.

— Joe