She's a Betty: My Gram

Growing up, my weekends were timed by my grandmother's visits.

On Saturday mornings, I was up at the ass-crack o' dawn--watching cartoons huddled on the floor in my Strawberry Shortcake sleeping bag. Sometimes, however, you could find me sitting at the head of the stairs with the dog in my Wonder Woman underoos waiting for my grandmother to arrive.

Once the front door opened, I was downstairs in a flash (if I was in the underoos, I was told to "put some clothes on as I would catch cold." I did so love Wonder Woman). I got a big hug from my grandmother who always smelled like Coty powder and the Windsong I gave her for Christmas--along with the outside cold that lingered on her wool coat.

"Hello, Katzelie, " she'd always say to me, 'let's get down to the nitty gritty."

The "nitty gritty" involved going down to her bedroom and watching her unpack all of her medications, which she kept in a ziplock bag.

Then the fun began--as only fun can begin to a nine-year old: Grandma had been to the Hostess store. Following the unloading of the medications began the unloading of enough treats and sugar to put the most hardened nutrionist into a diabetic coma.

(An aside: Oh--Ding Dong, oh Ho Ho--how I love thee.)

"Are 'they' still alseep?" my grandmother would ask, pointing to my parents' bedroom.

"Yep," I'd respond--thinking about all the ways Gram and I could fill the time.

"Let's play Bunco," Gram suggested--pulling a tablecloth to muffle the sound of the dice.

And so we did--we'd play Bunco, Crazy Eights, Poker...as I got older, we'd sit and talk. We'd play Texas Hold'em or Pinchole or Canasta.

We'd curl up and night and read our books. Grandma would talk about The War (and believe me, there's only one.) or The Depression (where I thought people were sad all the time.)

We'd dance together--my grandmother was a dancer who was fond of reporting: "I was out on Saturday nights, and I danced all 32 dances!" Her outfits hung like whispers in her closet.

The best gift that Gram could have given me was that of The Golden Girls.

"We're watching this," Gram told me one Saturday night, "it has Bea Arthur."

Well, I didn't know who Bea Arthur was, but Gram and I curled up that first Saturday night at 8:30--me resting a pillow on her shoulder--to watch the black-and-white on her nightstand.

And I fell in love. I thought Blanche glamorous and Dorothy smart. I couldn't wait for each episode!

I watched GG all the way towards its series end in 1991.

In 1993, my Ultimate Golden Girl left this world for another--where I know she's not only dancing all 32 dances--but teaching others how to do them--as well as keeping everyone in toothpaste and toilet paper (on sale).

But in introducing me to Dorothy, Blanche, Rose, and Sophia, my grandmother left me a gift--of herself. I have the Girls on Tivo and on DVD--and with one click--I'm right back there with the black-and-white (except now I get the humor). :)

Life has a funny way of working out. When both Estelle Getty and Bea Arthur passed on, I grieved.

I joined FB groups about the Girls--took quizzes about which GG I am: (Dorothy).

And then the funniest thing happened on the way to FaceBook: Betty White has made a resurgence.

Between movies with Sandra Bullock and an utmost-FAB superbowl commercial, our Miss Betty (84-years young) is back!

She has made the talk show rounds and will appear on SNL this Saturday! (You go, girl!)

She has played beer pong on Jimmy Fallon.

Was in the shower on Jay Leno.

And as my grandmother would say: "getting down to the nitty gritty." :)

I Heart You, Betty!

My grandmother would have loved this--we would have laughed with the television turned up high.

Love you Gram!!

My Mother, Myself

As I look towards getting older, there are many things I look forward to: a. getting to speak my mind fully and unselfconsciously to complete strangers without fear of repercussion (I am actively working on this), b. getting better looking by means fair or foul (i.e., Boxtox if need be), c. mandatory spa treatments to support letter b, and d. turning into my mother.

Because, you see, my mother--quite simply--rocks.

Now, I know other people say this of their mothers--and espouse their greatness--but in my mother's case, it is simply true.

Kinda like gravity.

The best part of being my mother's daughter is being her daughter as an adult. (Not that I still don't get maternal advice: don't talk to strangers, watch your purse, watch out for deer on the road--and after getting my wallet stolen, she's not taking any chances!). We have so much fun together--we laugh, we talk. We also have our secret mom/daughter language (sorry--no can tell).

Although we live close, our respective work schedules make it difficult to see each other often or regularly, we have what I like to refer to as the Weekly Phone Call, which may transpire something like this:

ME: (after shutting office door and using office phone, which offers better quality than my crappy phone) Hi, it's ME!

MOM: Hi ME! How is work?

ME: Fine.

MOM: How is Man?

ME: Fine.

MOM: How is LT? (Teddy for those of you not In the Know.)

ME: Fine. He's still old.

(abrupt change in coversation)

ME: I HAVE GOSSIP!!

MOM: What? What is it?

ME: (spilling forth gossip of the week)

MOM: That's good gossip.

ME: I know! (Because I'm nothing if not modest.) Do you have gossip?

MOM: Some. I was having issues with my wireless network. I called Tech Support, and they LOVED my network name!

ME: Oh yeah--what is it?

MOM: NO POACHING

Now, seriously, how can you not love a mom like that? She's tech-savvy and protects her bandwdith.

The best part about my mom is not about the big memories we've made together--but the small ones--and even some of those in difficult times.

Valentine's Day

As lame as it sounds, Valentine's Day is pretty important to girls--even though we can probably all agree that it's a commercialized holiday funded by Hallmark. And yet, when that day rolls around, we want some acknowledgment that someone out there loves us--albeit in the form of a Hallmark Greeting Card.

I am lucky. Having suffered several crappy VD memories over the years--namely, buying my own flowers at the grocery store--after bashing my head in on a lamp and requiring 28 stitches and some guy heckling me in the parking lot--I am happily ensconced with Man (who makes everyday special), and always lights up my day with flowers and chocolates on Valentine's Day.

Before Man, however, and even before my dad (who sent me my first flowers at age 14), there was my mom.

It was fourth grade (back in the day when you had to send valentines to every kid in the class--whether you liked them or not). I had walked in from school and up in the living room--sitting on the Queen Ann Table (from which I write this blog)--sat my Valentine's gift from my mom; a white teddy bear holding a heart that said 'Somebody Loves You," a box of chocolates, candy hearts, and a card.

I could not believe that all that was for me. It was the best feeling ever.

Plantation Project

I remember being so worried about this project for my fifth-grade history project--but no worries: Mom to the rescue. Mine was one of the best in class, and we had such fun working on it together.

A Night at The Worthington

Mom and I spent a night at The Worthington in downtown Fort Worth--being ladies on the town. :)

Ice Cream Sundaes on the Couch

After my parents separated, my mom and I spent an afternoon on the couch watching movies and eating ice cream. She brought me an outfit from The Limited, which I had (at least the leggings) until 2001.

Where Everybody Knows Your Name: Boston

In spite of all the sadness that had befallen us, Mom always wanted to make sure we made memories. We used her flight benefits to fly to Boston for the day. We went to Filene's Basement.

Freshman Year of College:

After the passing of my grandmother after I transferred back to UNT--in spite of the grief she felt about my grandmother--my mom was there. I remember how out-of-the-blue she showed up at my dorm room with a new outfit because she thought it might cheer me up.

Cruising

Mom always wanted us to having something to look foward to--so she planned a cruise for us upon my exit from grad school. We planned for months--fretting over wardrobes and pondering menus. :)

Brain Surgery

The worst thing about brain surgery is death. And that they have to shave your head. And that there aren't mandatory pedicures. The best thing about brain surgery is having your mother with you. And not just the hospital stay--but after. It never occurred to my mother that she wouldn't stay with me--even at the expense of other things going on. She was there--making smoothies, meals that I could eat, finding a pillow that I could sleep on, helping me bathe. But we talked--about life, about movies...sometimes we didn't talk at all. We just sat.

The best thing you can have your mother say at 30, "You're a lot easier to feed now than as a baby." :)

Moving to Minnesota

Moving to the midwest wasn't an easy decision--I was ready for a change and wanted to be where my mom was. After living in Chicagi, I got my job in MN.

And I emailed my mom with the words, "Hello Neighbor!"

That was the best day ever. Of course, Mom was there to help with everything.

Lessons Learned From My Mom:

1. Put the turkey in early on a low setting.
2. If the recipe calls for butter, use it.
3. Watch for deer.
4. Don't pet the deer.
5. Watch for you purse when you travel because if you lose your license, you're not coming home.
6. Wear sunscreen.
7. Use fabric softener as cream rinse.
8. Wed. is double-coupon day at Rainbow.
9. Heat up a cup of white vinegar in the microwave to help clean the insides.
10. I Love Lucy/ Golden Girls fixes all troubles.

To my mom: I love you!!