Back In The Saddle

I had an awesome, busy, blissful, exciting, fabulous, amazing summer and I simply cannot believe that it's over. I went to the beach all the time (I'm probably more golden than I have been since I was 10), I made and ate amazing food, and every night I slept in the arms of my LOML (look it up). I had a crappy job- but all in all I would not hesitate to call THIS the best summer of my life.

And, boy howdy, is it over.

Grandma's summer was just as busy, if less fabulous. She had an awesome tea party, a slew of guests, and a heart attack. As a result, things have changed a bit around here. Let's all be thankful that "my" room had two beds- half of the furniture in "my" room has been swapped out for half the furniture in the dining room so Grandma can sleep on the first floor and won't have to do the stairs (which put undue stress on her heart) unless she needs a shower. Had "my" room housed a single bed, I would be sleeping in Grandmas bed/bedroom. Yup. Let's be so very very thankful that I had a bed surplus. Upshot- I'm down a bed (that it happened to be the bed I chose to sleep in is a MINOR thorn in my side) and I'm up  eight tedious mahogany tables (honestly, there are only SO MANY knick knacks any self-respecting girl can decoratively arrange about a room- unless you're my Grandma, of course.)

And, yet, through it all, Grandmas 'tude is unwavering as ever, and the clarity of the summer, focused sharply over the last few days, has illuminated for me her unique emotional perspective, which has cleverly enough catalyzed itself into a convenient bite-sized word: Appreci-Hate.

Grandma Appreci-Hates me. For example, before running an errand today Grandma sat me down and told me never to take for granted access to her car and that, when I'm using the car, from now on I'm required to ask her permission, each and every time, so that she can grant a verbal contract, each and every time, so in the rare instance I get into an accident she can truly and honestly answer whatever insurance questions come her way about my use of the car, each and every time I get into an accident. This was very gravely and very condescendingly relayed, as if she had always resented my use of her car up until this point and now has an excuse for me to jump through a hoop to use it- and then she requested that I please pick her up some moist toilet towelettes and another seven day pill box, and she told me I looked pretty today, and to enjoy my errand and the beautiful day, and not to wreck the car. See? Appreci-Hate. She hates that I'm driving her car, but she appreciates that I can run errands for her, I think. Maybe she's just not hesitating to use me. Let's try again.

Today was very busy; in addition to crucial Thesis work, errands, making dinner and cleaning it up, I also emptied the fridge. I dumped multiple moldy cartons of cottage cheese, disposed of several open and stinky yogurt containers, removed ALL the over-ripe, furry, bloated, produce from the drawers and power washed those drawers with the garden hose for good measure. While I was sniffing, gagging and pitching, Grandma was sitting, watching and clucking her tongue; "What a waste! Such a waste!" and then she declared that this particular purge was "Better than a good shit!" She appreciates that I did all this nasty work and freed up all this fridge space and made sure our eggs were NOT included in the salmonella recall, but she hates that I noticed all these wasteful flaws and that she is unable to do all this herself. Appreci-Hates.

The thing about her Appreci-Hation is that, yeah yeah, so she hates me; I'm used to that, but even when she appreciates me it's half-hearted. When I do something admirable, she's still resentful of me, because I'm not her and I never will be, and she either can't do those various admirable things anymore or she didn't think of doing that admirable thing herself- so while she's always sure to compliment me, she also always sticks a dig in the compliment so I won't get too full of myself, or something? It's like the Lindsey Vonn phenomenon of previous entries, but Lindsey Vonn doesn't have to live here, and Grandma doesn't have to hate Lindsey Vonn to appreciate her. Or does she?

Happy New Year?