Musings on Margaret

When people talk about their grandmothers, they tell stories of little old ladies who don't do much or are even in homes, saying, "well, she is 80."

I've never thought of my grandmother, Margaret, as old, even when she was 80 (she's 88 now). I actually think she's pretty fabulous. And, if Betty White's appearance on Saturday Night Live shows us anything, it's that 88 might just be the next.... well, at least 75.

Margaret has been on her own for 20 years. My Grandfather, Jack, died from pancreatic cancer when I was a senior in high school. I say "on her own," but that's not really true. She's been surrounded by groups of friends ever since. She's gone on cruises, and is always out, playing cards, going to lunch or the movies. It's rare to actually find her at home if you call. Margaret has shit to do.

I have been thinking about my gram a lot lately, remembering things and smiling at her fabulosity.

Crescent rolls. When we were little, our parents went to Europe, so Jenny and I stayed with our grandparents. Every morning, there would be the pop of the can, and then the smell of Pillsbury Crescent Rolls. That smell always reminds me of her.

So does sandalwood. Grandma had this owl incense burner, and I would always ask her to light a cone of incense. I don't know why I was so obsessed with it, but she would always light one for me. A couple years ago, she gave me the owl incense burner. I have it in my living room (And, of course, sandalwood cones).

Margaret likes hair to be neat. She is forever saying she wishes people's hair was neat. (I think I get that from her, because I'm forever looking at people's hair and rolling my eyes.) I can only imagine what she thinks of the unruly mop on the top of my head. She probably rolls her eyes behind my back. That's okay, Gram. I roll mine right at my reflection.

She loves to play games. Scrabble, pinnacle, rummy, Monopoly. And she's cut throat at it. She plays to win, my Grandma, and she doesn't care if you are her loving granddaughter. If you don't have the money to pay the rent on her Boardwalk, she will laugh and say, "Give up??" She's in our football pool, and not this past season (which I won, thank you very much), but I believe the season before, she won. She didn't just win. She kicked our asses from the beginning of the season on. And just try to keep her away from a slot machine.

She also loves her vodka martinis. On the rocks. With olives. Stirred with a small, white, plastic spoon. She brings her own olives when she visits, because when she buys a jar, she drains out the brine and fills the jar with water, to cut down on the salt.

When I call her, or when she sees me, she stops herself before saying my name. There is always that little pause where she wants to call me "Shelly," like they did when I was little, but knows I go by Michelle, now. Sometimes, she stops herself mid-name, so she ends up calling me "Shmichelle." Again, that's okay, Gram. You can call me anything you want.

And, she can be brutally honest. We were in Vegas (again, just try to keep her away from the slots) for my cousin's wedding. In August. She made a comment on the heat and it being August. I said, "Don't worry, Grandma. If I get married, I promise not to do it in Vegas in August." Her reply, "Well you'd better get a move on, I'm not getting any younger." Ouch. I blew that part off and said, "What are you talking about? You have 20 more years before Willard Scott will even think of saying your name on the Today show."

Unfortunately, though, that might not happen. You see, we found out that Margaret is sick. Although she has not smoked in more than 30-some years, she has lung cancer. We're all remaining positive, though, and sending out good thoughts and prayers her way, because she's a strong lady and we all love her so much.

I've been afraid to call her. Afraid that as soon as I heard her voice, I would start crying, and I didn't want her to be upset. But today, I took a deep breath and pressed SEND on her number, so I could wish her a happy Mother's Day. And when she answered, and I heard her voice over the din of her TV, I just smiled and said, "Hi Grandma." And there was the familiar pause before she said my name. She'd just got home from Mass and brunch with her friends, and was waiting for Sharon and Joe to come over for dinner. She sounded just like Margaret, strong and sure, and busy with plans.

I told you, my Grandma has shit to do.

UPDATE: Today is March 7, 2011, and Margaret is 89. HAPPY BIRTHDAY GRANDMA!!!! Her treatments are going well, doing their job and keeping her cancer at bay. She's a little tired, and now a bit short of breath, which she is getting checked out today. I called her this morning to wish her a happy birthday. She sounded a bit scratchy, but said she was doing OK. If it means we get to celebrate 90 next year, I'll take OK every day.