My grandmother, my father's
mother Mom Mom, was a world-class nutjob. She was off her rocker. I'm not sure
if she was always that way or if it was a result of being married to my grandfather.
I think we all have a little crazy in us and it's just a matter of time before
it comes out, at least in my family that's how it works. Sometimes I do, think
or say something a bit off and I think, ‘It’s happening!’
When I was a little tyke would visit Mom Mom and Pop Pop occasionally on Sunday
afternoons. Pop Pop worked the night shift and would be asleep upstairs. Mom Mom
would shuffle us into the living room and insist we play the piano with all of
our might, “You have to really press the keys down hard!” My parents would
discourage us, but Mom Mom was persistent, and we played our little hearts out.
While we played, she’d tell stories of waking up in the night because someone
or something sat on the edge of the bed or hearing noises in the house or
things missing. My brother and I would slow our symphony and listen to her horrifying
stories. The piano banging would eventually wake Pop Pop and he’d come down and
immediately start his monologue. He was always talking stocks and asking how
much you paid for something. "I've got news for you Pal..... "
"I'll tell you what....." "You know what you should do?” “What’d
that set you back?” Then he’d look at my brother and me at the piano. He never
yelled about the loud music. He'd instruct us to go up the stairs into their
room and get a half dollar each from the bedside nightstand. We'd creep up the dimly
lit staircase, peek through the keyhole of the bedroom door to check for ghosts
or murderers and then open their bedroom door run to the nightstand and as
quickly as we could grab two half dollars and run for our lives back
downstairs.
My father’s youngest sibling Dean was a motorcyclist, a member of ‘The Breed’ a
motorcycle gang in New Jersey and he was a dead ringer for Jesus himself. Long
hair, long beard, soft spoken, kind; I never met a hippy, nor did I know what a
hippy was. I just knew he was cool. I was the flower girl in his wedding and got
to wear the prettiest salmon colored dress and have my hair professionally done
up like a princess. The whole wedding was magical with the exception of Aunt Carol
yanking and choking me by my salmon-colored dress neck. She was heavy handed,
the cigar smoking probably contributed to that.
Dean would show up to our
house on his Chopper with his gorgeous long haired hippy girlfriend hanging
onto him. On one visit he brought George Carlin’s 1974 album Toledo Window Box.
My Dad cued it up on the record player and we all laughed and laughed. I was
laughing mostly at my Dad laughing who was suddenly transformed into a jovial happy
guy that I’d never met. Usually, he was freaking out; at dinner about some
stupid look my brother had on his face or me giggling; on the weekend because
there were chores to be done; or because I flushed the toilet and almost electrocuted
him when he was working on the well pump; or at our beagle for howling at hot
air balloons; there was an endless supply of things to freak out about and he scared
me to death and could make me cry with one look. But this guy was fun! It was all
so groovy and we wished Uncle Dean would come over more often or maybe just move
in with us. Sadly, Dean died in a motorcycle accident when he was 25. His
funeral was the first and only time until my Mom passed that I saw my Dad cry. It
was more concerning than sad. It never occurred to me that Dad hadn’t cried
ever or that he even could. It was downright sobering. I looked at the funeral
cards with Jesus on them and thought, "I didn’t know Uncle Dean had a robe
but that’s a really nice picture of him.” I was ignorant beyond my years.
Dean’s death was the undoing of Mom-Mom and Pop-Pop’s marriage, but mostly of
Mom-Mom. They divorced after 46 years of marriage. Many people asked what the
point of that was, but I got it and I get it. Why suffer any longer than
necessary? They had been trying to kill each other for years, literally. She
would try to run him over with the car, he chased her with a hammer, she put
Salt Peter in his sandwiches, he was no doubt building a bomb in the basement.
During the divorce they sold the house with the dark wood, piano, ghosts and murderers
and Pop-Pop re-bought the first house they lived in where they had raised their
family. When I got my driver’s license, I went to visit him. The little house
sat way back off the main road and there were several goats tied to trees in
the yard, this is how I knew I was at the right place. I walked to the door and
banged on it. I heard rustling and yelling and then Pop-Pop materialized at the
door, "Hey Michele! Ha ha ha! Come on in!" He was actually happy to
see me, I am unsure of many things, but I was sure he was happy to see me, and
it was lovely. I brought him an Entenmann’s raspberry Danish because I
thought it was mature and I was determined to be as old as possible and who
doesn’t love an Entenmann’s raspberry Danish? The door opened into the kitchen
and there was shit everywhere, cans, newspapers, magazines, milk crates and a
narrow path that led through the house. Pop-pop was hoarding when hoarding wasn’t
cool. On the stove was a pot boiling away and he announced there was a rabbit
in the pot. It wasn’t ready and for that I was very thankful. He cleared a
mound of crap from one of the kitchen chairs for me to sit down and then moved
some of the other crap from the kitchen table. We made small talk while he
rolled a cigarette. I could have watched that for hours. I was a mesmerizing
process, the papers, the tobacco, the rolling and sealing and it smelled really
good.
After a while he got up to
check Bugs and then went to the freezer. He pulled out the ice tray, removed
something wrapped in plastic and said, "Try this on." It was a
diamond ring, just gorgeous, freezing cold, but gorgeous. It fit, I was so
excited! "Now take it off." Psych.
Behind his house he had
built a 10,000 square foot warehouse that he quickly filled with flea market finds.
He’d drive a bread truck to the flea market with his buddy Jakie Lee, setup his
stuff and somehow come home with more than he brought. I don’t think that uncommon,
but his collection was disconcerting. As
I stumbled through yet another sea of shit, Pop Pop would yell, "Damn
racoons!" "I've got news for you....". And on it went but I
never saw that diamond ring again.
Mom-Mom on the other hand moved into an apartment close to the A&P for easy
access to the groceries. Her and I had more in common then we realized. Her
world revolved around food and telling wacky stories. I decided she would be my
next road trip. When I knocked on her door she barked from the other side, “Who’s
there?” “It’s Michele! YOUR GRANDDAUGHTER!” I’m surprised she opened the door
at all. There stood the little 5 foot woman in her dress and apron, “What are
you doing here?” I think she thought I was there to rob her blind. That made
both of us uncomfortable. She wasn’t… how can I put this? Maternal and I always
got the feeling she didn’t like me but she invited me in and immediately went
to the refrigerator where she hauled out the ever-present ham on a plate covered
in reused aluminum foil, and a bowl of creamy sweet potato salad. She made heavenly
potato salad and my mother spent years trying to outdo her and to her credit eventually
did. Mom-Mom told me for the hundredth time I looked like some relative named
Pee Wee and dug out her photo album. Then it was the lecture that I should
marry a nice Jewish boy and her walls were very thin and the neighbors listened
to her conversations. They drank apple
brandy and listened to everything that went on in her apartment. When she went
to the A&P they went through her apartment, she kept the money hidden well,
so that was okay. She told me she started buying chicken from the boxer. “What
boxer?” I asked. Tyson. She thought she was buying chicken from Mike Tyson. She
then told me the story of her experience at Dean’s wedding. "Dean’s
wedding was in September, I looked out one side of the church and the sun was shining.
I looked out the other side and I saw snow." (hello?) "Then the wind
blew over my right shoulder, it was cold and that the right side is the past.
Then the bible pages flipped, I don't know where it stopped, but it stopped on
purpose and that is the last time I was in a church.” Alrighty then, probably
time for me to head out. My hope was visiting would be therapeutic for her, who
knows.
When Mom-Mom passed, before Pop-Pop, I didn't make
it to the funeral but my parents reported back
to me, apparently Pop-Pop walked
up to the casket, stood there and said, "You were always a crazy
bitch."
Wow, and I missed that? But Mom-Mom got the last laugh and was buried next to Pop-Pop’s
mother. Who’s the bitch now? Mom-Mom, she’s still it, may her and Pop Pop rest in peace.
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