On Being Called GRANDMA When With Your Young Children

Recently, one of the women that I am on a BB with talked about how strangers were referring to her as Grandma if she was out with her kids. Undoubtedly, that is not the kind of comment that makes you go out and take on the day. At 49, I have had that happen to me several times. So in that vein, if I did all the things it would take to make me look younger I would:


 1.Lose more weight (and I just read a study that said skinny people are perceived as older because fatter people's skin stretches and you can't see the lines) So I am carefully looking at my options here and an ice cream sundae that is calling out too me  
2. I would lose the van and get a 2 seater sports car (that isn't going to happen anytime soon) 
3. have my own personal crane to hoist certain sagging body parts up but that is out of the question because I can't afford the teamsters operators fees for the crane operator.
 4. elect to have surgery, surgery, surgery...unfortunately it is all considered elective no matter how many times I have argued with my insurance if you are going to pay for viagra then it is only fair that you pay for a tummy tuck, butt tuck and anything else the doc is willing to tuck. And really, if all us "grandma's" looked that good the Viagra market would tank. Obviously, the BIG PHARMA would NEVER allow that to happen
 5. I would hire a couple of old men to walk around and call me "Mom" and everyone will think I look fabulous but I really don't like all the paperwork that would entail unless I could pay them under the table so as to not endanger their social secutirty
 6. Pay my kids to call me "sis" while we are out in public but unfortunately I think they would refuse citing the creepiness clause. 
7. Divorce my husband and marry Castro so the next time someone said that to me I could yell "Off with their head!" It would certainly make those idiots who say things like that think twice! 
8. Yell out "these are my grandchildren? Last time I saw them they had blond hair and blue eyes. What did you do with my other grandchildren? Police! Police!"

So instead of going to all the time and effort of the above I have elected to:

1. Get a shot of botox right between the eyebrows since that large crevice makes me look angry all the time. I don't do the eyes or anything else just that horrid spot that makes me look tired and mean 
 2. I am considering telling everyone that I am a 65 yo Grandma and then instead of them thinking I look old their perception of me will change immediately and they will tell me how great I look for my age. I am also thinking about carrying around a very expensive jar of face cream that I will sell to them for $300 so they can look as good as I do at (cough, cough) 65. 

Okay, I am done. See your sense of humor also gets worse when you get to be my age! So does the dementia!

Sorry. To busy to write something original tonight so I went with something I wrote in 2000. I read this on Iowa National Public Radio and it also appeared in Heartwarmers.


I wrote this two years ago when Dave's Grandma was 94. Like many people her age she was finding it difiicult to take that path leading towards her "twlight years." These days Grandma is living in a retirement home, yet, she refuses to give into the idea that she will never drive again. I hope that when I am her age I will be as determined as she is ... it will make life much more interesting. In writing this story, I have taken certain liberties with the spoken word but the content remains true to Grandma's life.



SHIFTING INTO IDLE

By Cheryl L. Dieter copyright 2000


Everyone knew it was time for Grandma to stop driving. Everyone, that is, but Grandma. At 93 her health was deteriorating and she was beginning to forget things but these "insignificant" matters were not going to stop this Iowa "silver fox" from getting behind the wheel. If you think taking car keys away from a teenager is difficult you haven’t seen anything until you’ve tried getting them away from the over 90 crowd. Since sending Grandma to her room or withholding her allowance was not an option, we didn’t have much bargaining power. Not that we didn’t try. We cajoled and we nagged. Various family members even took her car keys but mysteriously another set would appear out of thin air. And amazingly Grandma could always find this new set even though she couldn’t remember which key actually started the car.

When the doctor ordered her to stop driving Grandma took matters into her own hands. "They didn’t require licenses when I started driving so I really don’t need one now." became her new motto and "If I can’t drive I might as well die," became, yet, another battlecry.

As determined as we were to get Grandma to stop driving, she was even more determined to keep her license. When it came time to renew her license, instead of asking a family member to take her to the Department of Motor Vehicles, she asked a neighbor; conveniently circumventing those of us who would have told the inspector not to renew it. In short, we soon realized that we were losing the battle of the car keys to a woman who had lived through four wars and the depression. In retrospect, it was hardly a surprise.

One particularly hot summer day, I called Grandma. When she answered the telephone she sounded so sad and forlorn.

"What’s the matter, Grandma?" I asked.

"I can’t start my car," she exclaimed.

"Grandma why were you trying to start your car? You know you’re not suppose to be driving," I said, about to give her the full lecture on the dangers of driving.

"Now before you get in an uproar and start telling me stories about dangerous old lady drivers who wipe out entire families who are on a trip to the ice cream shop, I want to explain," she snapped. "There are times that I need to feel like I’m still able to do the things I used to do. I need to feel useful and alive again. At those times, I take my keys and start up the car and sit behind the wheel and just let the motor run. I listen to the hum of the engine and remember the people I’ve seen and the places I’ve been. And sometimes, when I feel particularly daring, I take new turns and forbidden roads just to prove to myself that while I may be an old dog, I can still learn new tricks. You know, sometimes sitting in idle just letting your motor run is better than the trip itself. You should try it someday."

And you know, Grandma is right. Sometimes just sitting in idle and letting our motor run is the best the best medicine we can take as we drive down the crazy, fast-paced lanes known as the highway of life.

Shifting Into Idle

I wrote this two years ago when Dave's Grandma was 94. Like many people her age she was finding it difiicult to take that path leading towards her "twlight years." These days Grandma is living in a retirement home, yet, she refuses to give into the idea that she will never drive again. I hope that when I am her age I will be as determined as she is ... it will make life much more interesting. In writing this story, I have taken certain liberties with the spoken word but the content remains true to Grandma's life. As read on Iowa NPR and as published on Heartwarmers.

SHIFTING INTO IDLE
By Cheryl L. Dieter copyright 2000

Everyone knew it was time for Grandma to stop driving. Everyone, that is, but Grandma. At 93 her health was deteriorating and she was beginning to forget things but these "insignificant" matters were not going to stop this Iowa "silver fox" from getting behind the wheel. If you think taking car keys away from a teenager is difficult you haven’t seen anything until you’ve tried getting them away from the over 90 crowd. Since sending Grandma to her room or withholding her allowance was not an option, we didn’t have much bargaining power. Not that we didn’t try. We cajoled and we nagged. Various family members even took her car keys but mysteriously another set would appear out of thin air. And amazingly Grandma could always find this new set even though she couldn’t remember which key actually started the car.

When the doctor ordered her to stop driving Grandma took matters into her own hands. "They didn’t require licenses when I started driving so I really don’t need one now." became her new motto and "If I can’t drive I might as well die," became, yet, another battlecry.

As determined as we were to get Grandma to stop driving, she was even more determined to keep her license. When it came time to renew her license, instead of asking a family member to take her to the Department of Motor Vehicles, she asked a neighbor; conveniently circumventing those of us who would have told the inspector not to renew it. In short, we soon realized that we were losing the battle of the car keys to a woman who had lived through four wars and the depression. In retrospect, it was hardly a surprise.

One particularly hot summer day, I called Grandma. When she answered the telephone she sounded so sad and forlorn.

"What’s the matter, Grandma?" I asked.

"I can’t start my car," she exclaimed.

"Grandma why were you trying to start your car? You know you’re not suppose to be driving," I said, about to give her the full lecture on the dangers of driving.

"Now before you get in an uproar and start telling me stories about dangerous old lady drivers who wipe out entire families who are on a trip to the ice cream shop, I want to explain," she snapped. "There are times that I need to feel like I’m still able to do the things I used to do. I need to feel useful and alive again. At those times, I take my keys and start up the car and sit behind the wheel and just let the motor run. I listen to the hum of the engine and remember the people I’ve seen and the places I’ve been. And sometimes, when I feel particularly daring, I take new turns and forbidden roads just to prove to myself that while I may be an old dog, I can still learn new tricks. You know, sometimes sitting in idle just letting your motor run is better than the trip itself. You should try it someday."

And you know, Grandma is right. Sometimes just sitting in idle and letting our motor run is the best the best medicine we can take as we drive down the crazy, fast-paced lanes known as the highway of life.

The Peeker

Since this is my first post I think I will leave you with a little story that I wrote and then read on Iowa NPR. I hope you enjoy it. Love you and miss you Grandma.



This story was inspired by Dave's 92 year old Grandmother. While I have taken some liberties with the content of this piece, the gist of the story remains true to Grandma.

THE PEEKER
By Cheryl L. Dieter copyright 2000

Looking at her you would never suspect she was capable of such deeds. A silver-haired Iowa woman of great style, impeccable manners, and a great-grandmother of five; you normally don’t expect someone her age to be one. It is usually the young, cherub faced child that succumbs to the temptation, not the "little old lady" gnarled by arthritis who is afflicted with "sticky fingers". But, alas, a "sticky fingered" peeker she was.

It all started several years ago during the holiday season. Unable to make it home for Christmas, we decided to send my husband’s 92-year-old grandmother a box which held twelve presents representing the Twelve Days of Christmas. Labeling each present with a particular number, Grandma was instructed to open each on the prescribed day.

Things went well the first couple of days. "I love the soap. It smells so nice, like my Grandmother’s own rose garden," she would exclaim in delight.

It wasn’t until the third day that things began to seem amiss. "The candle looks so nice in the living room," she said. "It matches the color of the walls."

Odd, I thought. The candle was gift number seven. Oh well, maybe she just slipped up and opened it by mistake. Just in case, I reiterated that she was to open each gift on the day marked. For safe measure, I asked with the sternest voice I could muster, "You’re not peeking, are you Grandma?"

"Who me," she laughed. "You don’t really think I am capable of such a thing, do you? Why, Santa’s been coming to my house for 92 years because I’ve been such a good girl. I’m sure he wouldn’t come and visit me for Christmas if that were so. No, I wouldn’t dare chance such a thing, would you?"

Somewhat reassured I was relieved when day four came and went without a hitch. She loved the little silver bell engraved with the names of the grandchildren that would eventually become the centerpiece of her collection.

Day five arrived cold and bright. "I really love the bedside light," she said with glee.

Strange, I thought. I’m just sure that light was day eleven’s gift. Obviously, a gotcha plan was in order.

The next day I called her and casually asked, "So, how did you like the scarf we sent?"

"Oh, it is so beautiful," she replied. "It reminds me of all of the colors of fall."

Thoughts swirled around in my mind. The scarf was present number ten but today was day six. It just didn’t make sense ...and at her age. She wouldn’t ... she couldn’t... but indeed it appeared that... Grandma was a peeker!
"Grandma," I exclaimed. "You’ve been peeking haven’t you. There’s no sense denying it. Today’s present was suppose to be picture of our family. I’ve caught you with your hand in Santa’s cookie jar."

"Oh, all right. I guess I must confess," she said with a sigh. "I’m a peeker. But what do you expect? I’m 92 and may not live long enough to open all these gifts. It would be a terrible waste of your time and money if I didn’t get to enjoy all of this. But don’t worry. After I opened all the presents that first day, I wrapped them back up so I could surprise myself all over again. At my age my memory is not as good as it used to be so I get double the joy; two presents for the price of one you might say. You should be happy that I’ve had this much fun. Why, you can’t even tell that the paper has been unwrapped and the tape has been moved. Besides, it’s kept me off the streets and I’ve done a pretty good job if I do say so myself."

So to all you shoppers out there who are giddy with anticipation of the forthcoming holiday season, I have a bit of advice. Double wrap and use double-sided tape in order to lift the fingerprints of your own potential peeker. For you just never know what form they will take or where they might lurk.

Gotcha!