Warehouse of the Abandoned

My Saturday morning began with my refusal to enter reality, causing me to leave my dream, where I was having a fucking adventure! I am so annoyed by leaving my adventures for something as dull as real life. I usually get over this fairly quickly and am not one of those zombie-like people that take several hours to actually become a functioning human. The morning is the best time to cuddle with my dog, who is now almost 7, and has mellowed significantly. She allows and enjoys dog massage. It's definitely several grades above simple petting. Dog massage is for only a few "special" (read:insane) dog people. Whatever, my dog deserves a good massage.

Entering the kitchen to make coffee I see my Grandma in one of her usual states of mind. It's a unique kind of frenzy basically where by Grandma's brain wheels are spinning so fast I am pretty sure she could produce enough electricity to run the household. When do you think neuroscientists will tap into this kind of source?

Moving on. I helped her fix her calculator, which she had been working on for an hour in vain. Poor thing. I told her if we just look the model up on the internet it will tell us what to do. Without defensiveness, just matter of factly, she reminds me that, during her day people had to figure things out with their mind. Which is true. I give her some serious credentials. Woman can build a house and do a billion other useful tasks with pure willpower. After solving the calculator issue I ate some cereal at the table talking to my Grandma about how she belonged in the pioneer Manifest Destiny days. She would totally roll with the punches. And by punches I guess I mean cholera, mountains, creeks, broken wheels, sick animals, and squirrel hunting. That type of thing. No problem for Grandma.

Then I mentioned something she has been wanting to do- going to the warehouse of the abandoned. Diatribe about old money, spoiled rich, and quality made home items. There. Covered that. So Grandma simply says, "Well. I'm ready." And she was-of course- she ALWAYS is. Wake Gma up at 3am saying "Gma we have to _____" and she'll say, "Give me 5 minutes." And then she'll be standing at the backdoor looking in after you seeing if you are ready to go yet.

So at the warehouse, which so should be renamed something spectacular and significant, I found that although leaving my previous dreams was crappy I could have some new dreams in these aisles of abandoned EVERYTHING.

As if we did not have enough projects...now we have several more.

While leaving, Gma preferred that I employ a different technique to turn the truck around out of the lot. I said "Your granddaughter knows how to drive a truck." Lately, I have been doing that for some reason. Saying things like "Your granddaughter is one resourceful lady!" and "Your granddaughter's mother didn't raise no fool!"and "Your granddaughter is absolutely NOT planting a photenia tree in this yard!" or "Your granddaughter does not understand the point of ironing sheets!"

A couple weeks ago I lost my job. Well, it's not like I lost it so much as I was fired. And I wasn't so much fired as I was pissed off, aggressive, and quit. It's complicated. Let's move on.

The next day I loathed existence. Nothing meant anything and everything was futile. About 5 days later I got over it, deciding to wash my hair again. In any case, I went outside and stared at the ground for a while. Next thing I know I was up in the tree trying to cut down limbs and branches that did nothing wrong except grow in an angle that made me feel like they deserved to be destroyed. At one point I got down to get a saw also and a pair of gloves for my hands because apparently I was fucking serious.
After some time my Grandma was standing under the tree looking up at me.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm cutting on this tree!"
"I am going to the post office. I'll be back in a little while."
"Ok." I readjust and crotch-climb up higher.
Grandma gets in the car, puts it in reverse. I swing my leg over a knob so I can push out awkwardly at an angle to reach farther. Grandma put it in drive, scoots back up to the tree, rolls down her window and says "Do you need the saw?"
"I already got it."
"Ok, bye." She leaves.

This is my Grandma. Ask Seth. He once witnessed my assignment of limb cutting the pecan tree while on top of the garage. I was satisfied but Gma asks about getting just one more branch. She suggested I get the ladder set up in the bed of my pickup, back in, and climb on top with a POLE SAW.
I looked at Seth's mouth hanging open, eyes big. "Sorry Gma, ain't going to happen." She moves on to the next task of busy work muttering something about how she would do it. And she will. You gotta watch her. That same determination that keeps her going strong also keeps me trailing behind her trying to talk her down off the metaphorical ladder.