PANCAKES AND TURKEY

ME:  What are you doing, Grammy?

GRAMMY:  What does it look like I’m doing? I’m picking up a turkey.

ME:  But you know we don’t eat meat, Grammy.

GRAMMY:  Who cares what you eat.  It’s my house and I like turkey so I’m buying turkey.  What’s wrong with you anyway?  It’s Thanksgiving.  Who doesn’t eat turkey on Thanksgiving?

ME:  Vegetarians, that’s who.

GRAMMY:  Well, it’s not like it’s a religion, Barbara.  You can have meat one day a year.  You know.  Just to prove you’re as American as the rest of us.

ME:  I don’t have to prove anything, Grammy.

GRAMMY:  Well then, don’t come.  Stay home and eat alone.  I’m having turkey and if you come to my house, that’s what you’re getting.  Alfie doesn’t mind turkey.

ME:  Alfie?

GRAMMY:  Yep.  I invited him.  Thought you might like the company.

ME:  Well, I suppose we could do turkey one day a year.

GRAMMY:  Lord, no wonder you were gone three days.  You’re easier to flip than a pancake.

Photo:  Sage

METEOR SHOWER

GRAMMY:  There goes another one.

ME:  I think that makes seventeen.   Too bad Julius fell asleep.

GRAMMY:  Well, he got to see some of them.  How’d you know there were going to be meteor showers tonight, anyway?

ME:  Alfie told me.

GRAMMY:  Figures.

ME:  Why does it ‘figure?’

GRAMMY:  Just seems a fella like him would know about stuff like this.  Look.  There goes another one.

ME:  You know, Grammy, he really is a nice guy.  I mean, I’ll agree he is a bit weird.  But it’s weird in a good way.

GRAMMY:  Well, I suppose I shouldn’t complain.  At least he’s not Julian.  So.  You gonna kiss and tell?

ME:  Grammy!

GRAMMY:   Come on, Barbara.  You were gone three damn days.  Something good had to be happening.

AFTER THE LOVIN'

ME:  I should get going.  It’s been three days.  Grammy probably thinks I’m dead.

ALFIE:  Oh, I’m sure that’s not true.

ME:  You don’t know Grammy.  She doesn’t believe I can do anything on my own, and she didn’t think I should go out with you in the first place.  And then there’s the fact that I’ve never stayed out all night in my life, let alone three days.  By now, she’s probably certain I’ve either drowned in your swan boat or been abducted by elves.

ALFIE:  Well that’s silly.  The boat’s made of toilet paper.  I’d never put it in the water.  And who ever heard of evil elves?

ME:  All the same, I’m sure she’s worried.

ALFIE:  I really don’t think so, Barbara.  In fact, I’m certain she knows you're safe.

ME:  How can you know that?

ALFIE:  Look.  (points to building across the street)  She’s been watching us for two days.

GRAMMY:  You gonna get your ass home or are you gonna move in over there?

Photo:  Tim Noble and Sue Webster

DATING

GRAMMY:  What are you all dressed up for?

ME:  I have a date.

GRAMMY:  Oh, Lord.  Does that mean Julian’s back in town.

ME:  No, Grammy.  It’s not with Julian.

GRAMMY:  You mean you’re actually going out with a real man?  A strange man?

ME:  Well, he’s not really a stranger.  It’s that artist fellow next door.  His name is Alfie.

GRAMMY:  Oh, he’s strange all right.  Ask him for a tour of his back yard.  So where are you going?’

ME:  We’re having dinner down at the pier and then we’re going out on his boat.

GRAMMY:  You know his boat is a swan made out of toilet paper, don’t you?  And his crew is a bunch of elves?

ME:  Don’t be silly, Grammy.  Now I have to go.  Keep an eye on Julius for me.

GRAMMY:  Are you sure you don’t want to take a life jacket?  Or leave me your insurance policy? (Sigh) She’s gone from Tweedle-dum to Tweedle-dee.  Where the hell did her mother go wrong?

Photo:  Frank Herholdt

WAR

JULIUS:  All these are dead people?

GRAMMY:  Yep

JULIUS:  How did they die?

GRAMMY:  War.

JULIUS:  What’s a war?

GRAMMY:  A stupid game governments play for money and profit.

JULIUS:  Huh?

ME:  Grammy, he’s six years old.

GRAMMY:  So what am I supposed to do?  Lie to the boy?  Okay.  Start humming.

ME:  What?

GRAMMY:  Pick a song.  Any song.  Battle Hymn of the Republic,  Star Spangled Banner, and I’ll tell him about fighting to save democracy, and how he should be happy to die for his country so some rich guy can get richer. (sigh)  Did you ever see two boys in a fight, Julius?

JULIUS:  Uh, huh.

GRAMMY:  Well, that’s what a war is.  Except instead of two boys, there are thousands of them.  And instead of hitting, they shoot each other and drop bombs on each other, and kill people who aren’t even in the fight.  And some of them are happy to do it and some of them just want to go home.  But none of them want to die.

JULIUS:  Is that how Grampa Joe died?  In a war?

GRAMMY:  Yes.

JULIUS:  I’m sorry, Grammy.

GRAMMY:  Me, too, boy.  Me, too.

Photo:  Raginglily

MEDICAL ADVICE

ME:  Grammy, don’t you think you’ve put enough salt on those French fries?

GRAMMY:  Gee, Barbara, I don’t know.  I’m such an idiot, I can’t tell.  (sprinkles more salt)

ME:  I’m only mentioning it because it’s bad for you.

GRAMMY:  You’re only mentioning it because you’re not happy unless you’re sticking your nose in someone else’s business.

ME:  That’s not true, Grammy.  Too much salt will give you high blood pressure.  It’s common knowledge.

GRAMMY:  Yeah.  Common knowledge for the common folk.  I happen to know how to think for myself.  And I think since I’ve made it to a hundred and you haven’t, you should mind your own damn business.
 
JULIUS:  What’s a French fry?

GRAMMY:  Oh Lord.  Look at that Barbara.  The boy lives in the United States of America and doesn’t know what a French fry is.  It’s a potato, Julius.  Here.  Have one.

ME:  (taking fry from Julius)  Don’t eat it Julius.  It’s full of grease and salt.

GRAMMY: Yeah, and you certainly wouldn’t want to eat that when you can have a nice bowl of leafy greens covered in poison pesticide dressing.

Photo:  Ralph L. Goings

POKER

ME:  What are you doing, Grammy?

GRAMMY:  Playing poker.  This internet thingy is better than Vegas.  You wouldn’t believe the morons on the other end of this thing.  I wiped out a dentist who didn’t know three of a kind beat two pairs.  And I don’t think any of them ever heard of bluffing.

ME:  You know, Grammy, you can do more on the internet than play poker.

GRAMMY:  That’s for sure.  Did you know they have porn on here?

ME:  Yes, Grammy, but I don’t go there.

GRAMMY:  No, didn’t think you would.

(ding! ding! ding!)

GRAMMY: Hot damn! I just won another pot!

ME:  (sigh)  I guess I’ll head home then.

GRAMMY:  Whatever.  But take this before you go.

ME:  Grammy? This is a check for $16,000.00.  I can’t take this.

GRAMMY:  You want to pay for a car you don’t have for the rest of your life?

ME:  But you can’t afford this, Grammy.

GRAMMY:  I can as long as idiots want to play poker.

ME:  You won it all?

GRAMMY:  Bet your ass I did.  All that, and more.

ME:  Move over, Grammy.  I’m going to set up my laptop.

Photo Source
Art:  C. M. Coolidge

TOO MUCH ART

JULIUS:  Where are we going, Grammy?

GRAMMY:   Next door.  We’re gonna go see that artist fella.  If you’re destined to become a damned artist, you need to be around other artists.  But don’t tell your mother.

JULIUS:  How come?

GRAMMY:  Because she thinks everyone’s a weirdo.  She’ll turn a little visit into a big production.  She’ll want to do background checks and hire detectives and who knows what else.

JULIUS:  How come?

GRAMMY:  Because she loves you, and love makes people stupid.

JULIUS:  How come?

GRAMMY:  Damned if I know.  If anybody ever figures that one out, they’ll make millions.  Now go bang on the fence.  He said he’d be in the yard.  Maybe he’ll show you how to make stuff out of something besides toilet paper rolls.

(knock, knock)

GRAMMY:  By the way, what did you do with all the toilet paper that was on all those rolls?

JULIUS:  I threw it out the window.

ARTIST FELLA:  Come on in!

GRAMMY:  Oh, my Lord!  Turn around, boy.  We’re going home.

Photo: Tim Walker

ART

ME:  Grammy.  Come see what Julius made.

GRAMMY:  Lord.  I can just imagine.

ME:  Look Grammy.  This one is me.  The other is you.

GRAMMY:  Ha!  It does look like you.  Same crooked nose.  Same pouty lips.

ME:  And look. He even got in your scar.  You know, the one you got when you stowed away on Admiral Byrd's airplane.

GRAMMY:  I didn’t stow away.  He took me along, then got mad when I wouldn’t put out.  So he put me out - on the ice in the middle of nowhere and that’s when I met your Grampy.  Your real Grampy.  Now there was a man.  He wouldn’t have produced a son who played with toilet paper rolls.

ME:  Grammy!  This is art.  This is talent!  I mean, look at that scar. He lined it up exactly right.  If you ask me, I think we’ve found Julius’ calling.

GRAMMY:  Oh, great.  Some men are called to serve God, some are called to serve their country, and my great-grandson is called to mangle toilet paper rolls.

Art:  Junior Fritz Jaquet
Photo:  Bored Panda.com

TRICK OR TREAT

NEIGHBOR: And what are you supposed to be, little boy? You don’t look like you’re dressed up at all.

GRAMMY: He’s the son of an atheist liberal.

NEIGHBOR: Oh, sorry. Here you go.

JULIUS: Thank you,

ME: What did he get, Grammy?

GRAMMY: A bite-sized Hershey’s bar.

ME: And what’s the address.

GRAMMY: 27 Candykiller lane.

ME: Grammy, this isn’t funny.

GRAMMY: No. It’s not. The boy spends two hours in the freezing cold with no costume, and all he gets are bite-sized bits of fake chocolate. Talk about having a lousy day. Lord, I remember when chocolate was real and came in bars as long as your hand.

JULIUS (looking in bag) It’s not real?

GRAMMY: Well, it’s real. It exists. But it’s not really real. Not the chocolate. Know what I mean?

JULIUS: No.

GRAMMY: No. I guess not. Kinda like trying to explain color to a blind man. Oh well. At least there’s an up side. If someone is trying to poison you, there won’t be enough here to kill you.

Photo Source

GOD

JULIUS: Who’s that, Grammy?

GRAMMY: God.

JULIUS: Who’s God?

GRAMMY: Who’s God? Barbara, what the hell are you teaching this boy? He just asked who God was.

ME: God is make-believe, Julius. Like the Tooth Fairy and Santa.

GRAMMY: What? Julius, go in the kitchen and play with your toilet paper.

JULIUS: Okay, Grammy.

ME: Sorry, Grammy. I thought we’d have that conversation when he was a bit older.

GRAMMY: Conversation? Assassination is more like it! You just killed God, the Tooth Fairy, and Santa!

ME: Don’t be silly, Grammy. You can’t kill something that doesn’t exist. And he’s known about the Tooth Fairy and Santa since he was three.

GRAMMY: What the hell kind of mother are you? No wonder the boy has no concept of fun.

ME: God is hardly fun, Grammy.

GRAMMY: That’s for sure. And you just pissed Him off. I’d be afraid to sleep tonight if I was you.

ME: Really, Grammy. If God existed and wanted to punish me, He wouldn’t have to wait until I was asle . . . .

(Crunch!)

JULIUS: Mommy! Mommy! A garbage truck just ran over your new car.

GRAMMY: You were saying?

AFTERNOON DRIVE

ME: Isn’t this a beautiful day for a drive, Grammy?

GRAMMY: Oh, yeah. Main streets and back roads of beautiful Cow Hampshire. Hit another frost heave and my teeth are gonna fall out. And just because you bought a brand new convertible doesn’t mean we have to ride with the top down. It’s friggin' October, you know.

ME: I just want to be sure everything works.

GRAMMY: Show off is more like it.

JULIUS: Mrs. Joy says we shouldn’t show off.

GRAMMY: Yeah, and Mrs. Joy also thinks coral is spelled with two R’s. You don’t want to put too much faith in anything that dim bulb says.

ME: Oh Grammy, it was just a spelling error.

GRAMMY: Teachers don’t get to make spelling errors. Now can we go home? You got to play with your brand new car. I want to play with my internet thingy.

JULIUS: What do I get to play with? I didn’t get anything new.

ME: Well, what would you like?

JULIUS: Toilet paper.

GRAMMY: Lord. Just when you think the boy is coming along.