The alligator and The crocodile

"See ya later alligator!"

As a boy, this is how I hoped my grandma would say good-bye to me as a kid. Waving from her front porch, I would eagerly wait for this line so that I could reply with...
"After while crocodile!"
I loved it. Simply loved it.

Nine times out of ten, it was how we said good-bye, even when I grew out of it and left her alligator with out a crocodile. If only I could go back and give her all the crocodiles I was too old and too cool to say to Grandma "P" back then.

My grandmother loved puzzles and books. For as long as I can remember, she could tear through 300 pages in a day. She could put together a 5,000 piece puzzle in less than a typical person's work week. She did all of this, while holding down a daycare center out of her home and a small barber business from her back porch. Bologna sandwiches with tomato soup was a typical lunch at Grandma's. A lunch that I came to loathe and whine about with my brother and mother. A lunch I now eat only when I am alone, and with a sense-memory nostalgia pumping through my veins.

Grandma "P" read all of Jackie Collins' novels. She collected the V.C. Andrews Books. There were Koontz books, King horrors, John Irving classics. Grandma was the type of reader that didn't care. She bought those $3 paperbacks with Fabio on the cover. She would go to the back of K-Mart, where they stocked two pathetic shelves of books, and return with nothing because she had read all they had to offer. I think she belonged to a book-club equivalent to Columbia House.

It is not until this very moment as I type this, that I realize, if not for my grandmother's love of books and reading, I may not have become such a reader myself. Neither of my parents are readers. They never have been. As a matter of fact, there really weren't even any books in my house growing up. Not that I can recall anyway.

But, Grandma "P" had shelves of books. Biographies on politicians like Eisenhower and movie stars like Shirley Maclaine. Romance novels and science fiction tales. The true crime books of Betty Brodrick and other made for TV movie types. Books about God and Jesus. I started reading her books. Some of which I probably shouldn't have read at such a young age. Like, Rosemary's Baby and The Flowers in The Attic. But, no matter, Grandma "P" was my personal librarian. She would finish a book and I would ask if I could read it. This was my desperate attempt at being "grown up" and "smart" just like grandma. I can recall fairly intellectual conversations about the third book in the Flowers in the Attic series being the best, between a 10 year old me and a 56 year old Grandma "P."

Then there were her puzzles. You know the one's I am referring to. The really detailed thousand upon thousand piece puzzles of lighthouses, a farmhouse in the autumn, some deer in the snow filled wilderness. Those puzzles. While all of her grandchildren were still young she didn't have as much time or space to devote to her puzzles. But, when she got older, divorced, and lived alone, those puzzles became her salvation.

I would go to visit her in her apartment, which was in a complex designed for people of retirement or disability age. The halls were filled with crocheted door wreaths, and the smells of coffee, polyester, and medicine. There were card tables set up in the common room with a week long unfinished chess match on one and enormous puzzles on the others. I mean 3' by 3' or bigger. These puzzles were a group effort from the tenants of that floor. In addition, she would have a smaller 500 or 1,000 piece puzzle in her apartment that she would be working on alone. I bought her only one puzzle in her lifetime. It pains me that we didn't frame it. It pains me more, that I can't remember what it was a puzzle of. I do know that she loved it. Even my father commented to me over the phone once, how much everyone liked this puzzle I gave Grandma "P." I do know that I really searched for a hard puzzle. I combed through the puzzles to find a beautiful one. I even remember explaining to Grandma "P" why I chose the one I did. I put thought behind this gift puzzle. But God, why can't I remember what it looked like!! Arrrggghhh! It brings me to tears right now, that I can't remember that puzzle. She talked about that puzzle with me. She truly and genuinely loved it. For reasons I can't recall. I am so sorry. I hate this. I hate my selective memory. I hate getting older. I hate the fog that has been cast over each year of my life as I inch a year farther away. I hate how emotional I am about my grandma after she died, instead of while she was here on earth. I hate where this blog is taking me right now. This was not my intention. I wanted to write a sweet ode to Grandma "P," and yet again, I have made this about me. About, what pain I am experiencing from her loss and my memories.

And to think, this one thought for this blog, came from a corny Golden Girls episode my boyfriend and I watched a few days ago while he was nursing his own winter bug. How gay can you get?

In the episode, Sofia goes down to the boardwalk daily. She sometimes has her lunch there. Sometimes she just people watches. It doesn't matter. She loves the boardwalk and the ocean. There she makes friends with a gentleman her age. They continue to meet there daily. Both have biting senses of humor. They flirt with sarcasm and wit. Sofia eventually gets ribbed by Dorothy and Blanche and Rose about maybe having a "boyfriend." The episode doesn't accurately tell you how much time passes, but you assume some weeks maybe months, they have been meeting on the same bench on the boardwalk. Sofia responds to all the jabs and jokes about "liking" this man by simply stating...
"I never really liked Al like that, even from the start. Naw...Neither of us did. We are friends. Good friends. He was a reason to get up in the morning. And at my age, having just one thing to look forward to can make your entire life feel different."
It was at this point that Nick turns to me on the verge of laughter and says, "are you crying?" I turn to him with tears streaming down my face and snot all over my upper lip and say, "that's almost exactly what my grandma said to me the last day I saw her alive." He didn't laugh. He didn't say a word. He looked away from me. Let me have my moment and we moved on to the next episode.

But, it is true. I went home to Iowa for Christmas 2004 and saw Grandma "P." Her condition had become so critical so fast. She was emaciated, grey colored, and on an oxygen tank. She had Christmas dinner sitting right next to me. She still joked and laughed. Only this time there was more of break between words to allow her some oxygen to speak. My father's live-in girlfriend, asked my grandma to tell me about her boyfriend over at the apartment complex. Grandma "P" chuckled, rolled her eyes, and smacked her lips like she always did. She leaned into me and with quiet confidence said....

"I let yer dad and everyone have their fun with Ernie and me. (BREATH) They love to tease. (BREATH) But, the truth is Chad, (BREATH) Ernie's just my friend. If you saw him, you would see, (BREATH) I am the pretty one in the relationship and that ain't sayin' much. (BREATH)Ernie and me don't see each other that way. (BREATH-COUGH) He likes puzzles and I like puzzles. (BREATH)He's someone to watch T.V. with instead of bein' alone. (BREATH) There ain't much to do up there at the apt, Chad. (BREATH) And most of them women up there done lost their marbles. (BREATH) Him and me still got our minds. (BREATH-COUGH) When you get old it don't take much. (BREATH) He's somethin' to look forward to everyday. That's all. (BREATH-COUGH)"

Again, I can't remember if we parted with our standard alligator and crocodile or not that Christmas night. It feels like she did say "See ya later alligator!" I wished I could remember specifically. I would like to think as an adult, I said "after while crocodile." I should have known I may not see her again. I should have seen that she held on for one more Christmas so that I could see her one last time before her death. I know I said I love you. I know I wrote something really sweet and meaningful in her Christmas card. I know I hugged her fragile and bony body one last time. I hope, I wish, I think, I feel...

I miss you Grandma "P!" I want you to know how much of an impact you had on my life. I want to thank you. Thank you for V.C. Andrews. Thank you for teaching me to cut hair. Thanks for the bologna sandwiches and the tomato soup. Thanks for raising me when my parents had to work to put food on the table. Thanks for the wisdom.
I will
see you later
alligator....