Grandma

L is me, Lori. G is Grandma. On the phone, today.

L: Hey, Gran’ma, how are you?

G: Honey Chile, you back in the United States?

L: Yes, Grandma. I came to North Carolina last night.

G: Where your mom n’ dad? Did you leave them? Did you leave them on they own?

L: Well, um, yes. We parted in Hong Kong. I think they are in France now.

G: Uh. All that mish-nay they do. I thought after that storm in Korea they’d turn ’round and help them folks. They always chasin’ after disaster.

L: No, I think they already had plans.

G: So, you stayin’ here?

L: Well, for now. I’m in Winston-Salem.

G: You goin’ back tah San Francisco?

L: Um hmm.

G: You going back tah be with your boy Steve?

L: Um. Grandma. We got divorced 3 years ago.

G: Oh. Well. He shore is a nice boy. I want him a pahrt of ahr family.

L: Mm. (silence)

G: Yeah. Well, you find you uhnodhah nice boy, ya’ hear?

L: Um. Yeah. Hey, Grandma, I thought I’d come see you on Saturday.

G: Well, Shucks! You come on down, now, ya’ hear?

This is the epitome of my relationship with my grandmother. Since I was a child, she has wanted me to have kitchen appliances and a good husband. As much as I hate her badgering me about finding a “good” husband, I’m looking forward to seeing her, and her sisters, who have visited her every Saturday for the last 50 years, on Saturday.