A Hard Nut To Crack...

For my eighteenth birthday my Grandmother gave me seven pairs of cotton undies; one for each day of the week, presuming I shower that often- and a card; on which she had written in barely legible English a warning not to go flashing them around the Town.

I guess that sums up her general opinion of Me.

I remember that my eldest Sister got a real string of pearls for her eighteenth. And my other Sister had gotten that really expensive quilt cover that she had asked for when she turned twenty-one. I don't care that their presents were worth more money than mine was; even if that's the way it might seem. I'm just stunned that this is what she thinks of me- that I'm some sort of tart with a different bloke every night of the week.

Apparently I remind her of her own daughter at the same age- my Aunt. Great. This means I can eventually look forward to living in near-poverty and squalor. This also means that she doesn't believe I am capable of ever finding work and providing for Myself; She thinks I'll be reliant on my Mother for the rest of my life- like my Aunt still relies on her.

So far so good...

Grandma.

What can I tel you about her? She's shrewd, blunt and to the point. She never says Goodbye at the end of a phone conversation- she just hangs up in your ear. It's so annoying. I've given up ringing her on her birthday; she never remembers any of ours so why should we? It's not because her mind's gone soft. Currently, she's having a Yurt built on what's left of my Grandfather's Farm. This is going to be her holiday house with her 'toy-boy'. His name is Charlie. He's a cheerful bloke who's around seventy at a guess- and I suppose I like him well enough; though I only see him once a year at Christmas time- so I guess I don't really know him at all...

I don't even know how they met- but I presume it was at one or other of my Grandmother's quirky interests. She goes to a Spiritualist's Church and partakes in all sorts of seminars and demonstrations- if it's not African drumming or something similar then it's attending readings with clairvoyants or bank-rolling some fake Medium who claims to be channeling an ancient spirit called Mafu.

To Me, it seemed she started to acquire her her interest in the Spiritual World when my Grandfather was dying in Pleasant Valley, or whatever the nursing home he died at was called. I could be wrong; She might have been interested in the supernatural her entire life. I don't know that much about her life; I think she was the eldest of eleven children kids. Not all of them survived infancy; only my Grandmother, her brother Bryce and baby Pauly. Mabel didn't survive. I don't know how she died but she was only four years old when she did. I remember seeing a picture of them together- my Grandmother has curly ringlets in her hair and a scowl on her face. She looks like she is about eight years old and was sitting on what looked like a piano stool; little Mabel standing beside her...

There aren't many photos to provide the memories- although my Mother does have a picture of Grandma in Kindergarten. The scrawl on the the slate in front of the children's small knees says that the year is nineteen-thirty-one. All of the children look depressed in their heavy woolen coats- not one of them is smiling. None of them look like they are only five or six years old; their eyes all look too old. They look like they had it hard; half the front row isn't even wearing any shoes...

That's why, I suppose, my Grandmother's such a hard nut to crack. She's been thrifty her whole life. She worked three jobs at once for over thirty years; one at the Ballet shop she owned, as a secretary at the real estate agents and she also took care of all the paperwork for my Grandfather's Panel Beating shop.

From what I can gather, and what I've since been told, they didn't have the happiest of marriages. There were rumours of infidelities and affairs on my Grandfather's part even when I was still a child. My Sisters and Cousin and I grew up on tales of alchoholism and boiling pots of water being thrown at each other. Their kids obviously didn't grow up very happily either...

Then there was the legendary story of how Grandma left Grandpa- throwing her wedding ring off the Carrington Bridge long before Little Richard ever did- and moved into the big house on The Hill- but I'll let my Mother tell you all about that in Her autobiography.

She knows more about it than I do.