Cut to the Chase

I’m nothing if not direct, so when I received a message on the cellphone from Middle Grandson saying, “Hi, Grandma. I just called to see how you’re doing. Love you.”, I was immediately wise to why the call.

I have three grandsons, all in their early 20’s, and never, not once in their entire lives have any one of them called me or said the L word.

Not that I care, even though, when they were little, I was the dutiful grandma ─ showed up for holidays, special occasions, baked cookies with them, saw to it they had what they needed when their mom was in her Prodigal years. It’s just that, at one point, it became necessary to walk away from family to maintain my own sanity.

When their mom, Twin 1, woke up from her Prodigal Experience, I eventually recommitted to the family unit, but not at a deep level, more surface. In that, before Covid, I did attend the once-a-year Thanksgiving celebration, but that was about it.

So, when I got that surprise call, I called back, with just what to say on the tip of my tongue had he answered, which was to laughingly say, “Who do you think you’re kidding. Just tell me how much you need”.

My return call went to voicemail, so I left a softer message for Middle Grandson, which still cut to the chase ... “You boys have never called me, so you must need money. Just tell me how much you need”.

I’m not Miss Rich Moneybags Grandma, but I live cheaply enough that I can occasionally help out. That is, so long as I'm living here. Should I ever move, I doubt living will be cheap enough to willy nilly dole out dollars to family.

Other than that, the good news is ..... She’s Baaaaack! 

Returning stiff and sore from the Pain Cave yesterday, I caught a glimpse of our regular mail carrier, hard at it, sorting mail in the mail center.

Must have been on vacation.

The nightmare is over.

However, with residents beginning to gather, anxiously waiting for her to finish sorting, the carrier may have been feeling the pressure and sorry to have returned, LOL.

I’m attributing the anxiousness to yesterday being the first of the month, when some residents were expecting their monthly check.

As to why they don’t go direct deposit, who knows, but just because it’s the first of the month doesn’t guarantee checks will arrive on time.

I realized, with yesterday being the first of March, that the special month ─ the month set aside to celebrate the achievements of Black people, had come to an end and what I thought would be a truce was over.

Wasn’t much of a truce, inasmuch as a Louisiana state police trooper kicked and dragged a handcuffed Black man, who later died in custody. The trooper got a 50-day suspension. In other words, a vacation.

Then there was the Black man, walking home from his job at Walmart, on a street during that snowstorm in Texas. Instead of getting the guy out of the deadly weather, taking him home, he was handcuffed, arrested and jailed for walking in the streets.

And don’t forget the Black man in Chicago, walking down the street, minding his own business, who was subjected to a violent arrest because the police said he “looked directly at them, stiffened his body and his eyes enlarged”.

I’m sure he did stiffen, once he saw the cops eyeing him, and obviously with good reason because, with all that’s going on, nothing has changed.

So, yea, those 29 days in February turned out to be not much of a truce.

As for once again returning stiff and sore from the Pain Cave ... it just doesn't get any easier, and I can't figure it out. Especially since yesterday's routine wasn't even all that strenuous.

Age related maybe?

At any rate, my normal recovery time is short ─ an hour or two or three, so I'll just keep on keeping on.