I keep thinking about Grandma’s letter. Did she really address and stamp an envelope to each of us ten grandchildren? Or did she only send it to the offenders and just make that sneaky comment about “you know how you are” to send us into psychosis?
I also wonder if she figured out how to:
2. Double side
3. Create that fancy border on her letter
All by herself. Or did she go to a FedEx or where ever you make copies? If she figured it out, I’m proud. If not, I bet that FedEx worker thinks that she has a terrible family. But given how she interacts with people, I bet they figured it out.
Worker: How can I help you, ma’am?
Grandma: I need to photocopy an article for all ten of my grandkids.
Worker: That’s wonderful!
Grandma: I want this typed letter on the back.
Worker: I’ll get right to it.
Worker slowly reads letter in horror.
Grandma: Are you reading that? It’s not for you.
Worker: Sorry. I was just getting the machine working.
Grandma: Did you check if it’s plugged in? I bet you didn’t even check.
Worker completes task
Worker: Have a nice day!
Grandma: Don’t tell me what to do.
(I once heard my grandmother give that response to a parking lot attendant who told her to have a good day #endearing)
A full six hours after reading the letter, I called my sister. If Grandma only sent it to the bad ones, then J wouldn’t have been included. J is perfect. Before medical school, she created a google spreadsheet of all our relatives and their names and important dates. Then she sent everyone handmade cards on their birthdays and anniversaries. She sent them to everyone—even people she hadn’t seen since she had braces. It was crazy.
I needed to confirm that she got the letter. That way I’d know she sent it to all of us.
“Yes, I got it. I put it in the recycling. I don’t need someone that negative around me,” she said. Then she told me about how she’s been making homemade kombucha.
We stand on the shoulders of giants. If Grandma wasn’t this aggressive, she wouldn’t have raised my mother who is outspoken and creative. If mom wasn’t so willing to take up space, she wouldn’t have raised J, who is entering medical school as she enters her third decade, and me, who has a cello in the shower of her small Manhattan apartment.
So the letter stays on the fridge.