Travels With Mike

Throw Nana From the Train

by Mike Rank | May 20, 2002 My Nana bought me this shirt. Then she said it made me look like a fat, stupid retard. Just kidding Buy books on Nursing Homes and Medication! When you break your life down in terms of who you are and what you know, it all comes down to mom. If parenting was left solely to the father's, you'd probably have a little more efficiency, but at what cost? Sure, the floor would always be clean because of the ten second rule. Grocery shopping would be a breeze since you only had to load up the cart with frozen waffles and peanut butter. Saturday chores would only take ten minutes after blowing out the house with the leaf blower. But all of the efficiency gained does not make up for the nurturing lost. I decided that it was important to spend this Mothers Day with the ladies of my life and planned a semi last minute trip to California for the weekend. I started off with taking Grandma and Grandpa to dinner. They've been married for over sixty years and are the embodiment of what grandparents should be. Breakfast at Grandma's consisted of eggs and mini-sausages (my favorite), summers always ensured a trip to Disneyland and Christmas was a wonderful basket of awesome bargains obtained from garage sales. Even now in their eighties, they're still as youthful and vibrant as they ever were. They laughed at their short memories and related stories of losing certain items, only to find them months later in the most unexpected places. At the restaurant, they affectionately shared a dinner, equally dividing the portions amongst themselves and swapping their solitary set of dentures back and forth, with one chewing their food with the teeth while the other gummed and swallowed their portion. As a treat for my mother, all four the kids were able to make it home for the weekend. While all of the children are now in their twenties/late teens, we've managed to keep the same level of affection for one another which manifests itself in repetitive pinching and hitting. Mom and Dad lost the will to discipline us long ago and just shake their heads as we pummel one another, leaving marks and bruises. It seems to be the solution they should have discovered long ago, as we eventually just tire ourselves out and laugh at our injuries. The crowning trip was to cram Fourteen hours of car travel into a day, heading up to San Jose to visit my Nana who I had not seen in over a year since she had moved to an assisted living community. It's always an adventure visiting her, as you never know what to expect. On my last visit, she had tried to pawn off fistfuls of old bras for me to take back to my sisters, followed by an hour-long session where she listed the names of all the horses in a picture she had in her living room. While she seemed to enjoy my visits, she held nothing but contempt for the young, the elderly, foreigners and anyone else not covered under that blanket. Knowing that this woman was now confined to a community with plenty of other senior citizens to anger her and fuel her rage, I knew I was in for some good times. Our visit started with a tour of the complex, which included all of the specifics one could wish for including a demonstration on how the trash can lids worked, an explanation of how the mailman has to rope of the mail area while making deliveries to avoid being bum rushed by angry senior citizens and clarification as to which symbols designated a restroom for a man or for a woman. Her apartment was cozy and had been well put together by my mother and aunts when they moved her in, although nana was pissed that now she can't find any of her belongings. The majority of our conversation focused around the birds which frequented her patio and were so bold as to crap on it. We discussed ways in which we could deter the animals, since her current strategy of throwing fistfuls of stale M&M's seemed to not be working. I suggested a pellet gun before remembering my aunt had confiscated her last pellet gun after she used it to shoot cats which would have the audacity to crap on her lawn. We went to Coco's for lunch and she had gotten through her usual stories of writing letters to Tom Brokaw to complain about all of the commercials on t.v.. and writing Bill Clinton to complain about all of the immigrants he let into the country. I was trying to decide on a topic to discuss before she went back into the gruesome details of her next hip surgery when she looked me dead in the eye and uttered one of the most disturbing things a grandparent could ever say to their grandchild. "I still haven't forgiven you for breaking my Cuckoo Clock when you were three years old." This came as a shock to me on a series of different levels. Isn't it a Federal Law that grandparents are supposed to love you unconditionally and forgive you for breaking their stuff, especially when you're a toddler? And even if there isn't, shouldn't there at least be a statute of limitations as to how long they should be able to hold onto that grudge? I was caught completely off guard, having come unprepared to defend actions I may or may not have committed a quarter of a century earlier. I'm used to having girls break up with me in a diner, but being scolded by my nana was a new one. I tried to pin the crime on one of my sisters, but this didn't work since they hadn't been born. She continued on, explaining her theory that I had grabbed onto the chains which were used to wind the mechanism. Then, I either hung on them or I tried to pull myself up, causing the chains to pull on the gears and throwing them off track, destroying all of the internal mechanics. Her in depth knowledge of the Cuckoo Clock would almost suggest that she had built it herself, which would have been a damn lie. Any clockmaker would concur that the weight of a fat, potato shaped three year old would undeniably tear a clock right off of the wall, even with just the slightest bit of pressure. If the fat boy doesn't fit, you must acquit. The topic consumed the remainder of our lunch, spilling over into the car ride home. Once we arrived back home the topic turned to walkers, where she showed me the various models that were available and expressed her interest in upgrading to the model which had the optional retractable sitting bench and side arm basket, perfect for carrying mail or other items. My cousin arrived to visit and again the topic of conversation turned to my having broken her clock. Of the four hours I spent there, I estimate that two of them were spent talking about that clock. It was time to leave and I drove on for four hours straight down the 101 towards LA, taking a stop in Buellton to gas up and to pee at the Split Pea Anderson's (o.k., that sounded alot funnier after driving for four hours straight). I wasn't going to grab a bite to eat, but realized I needed a break after I mistakenly used the women's restroom. What kind of idiot puts a regular women's bathroom next to the handicapped bathroom? I assumed I was just in the handicapped men's room, which explained while there were all stalls and no urinals. It didn't even occur to me that there was something wrong until I was washing my hands and noticed the tampon machine next to the sink. I shot out of there so fast I think I might have accidentally mowed down an elderly women who was shuffling into the handicapped restroom next door. I hope she wasn't a mother. Oh yeah. And I was just kidding about my grandparents sharing the teeth.