So sayeth my grandma, who turned 78 years young today. For all of you mathmeticians out here in cyberspace, that means that my sweet Carliss entered the world in 1933.
I am so happy about today being my lady's birthday. She is probably one of the most awesome people I have ever known. And not because she laughs at my jokes. I love that she is the type of grandma who sits at her chair facing the picture window and takes in everything that happens around her. I love that she has no qualms about calling someone out. And by "out", that can always mean out of their name. My cousin Jennifer has been a "heifer", or rather, "heffa" for the last 10 years. My nearly 40 year old brother Geoffrey is a "boy" and I have been a "little girl" for the past 30 years. I love that she has never really played favorites amongst my brother and I, nor my cousins. She seems to love us all equally - Geoffrey, Damon, Jennifer, Brad and I, her grandbabies.
I love this lady for her strength and willingness to do hard work. I admire that she, without complaint, would go to work Monday - Saturday at 6am as a cook, working long hours in a hot kitchen, preparing meals for others, standing on her feet 10 hours a day, with never enough time to take a break for breakfast or lunch herself. I admire her tenacity, fighting breast cancer with an iron fist, stopping smoking at the age of 70 cold turkey, despite having been a smoker since the age of 11.
One of the things I hate about not living in Florence (and granted there are just about a handful), is the fact that I cannot be close to her. Whenever I go "home", her apartment is usually my first stop, and before I leave, my last. I love just being around my "girl". The things she says. The way she always smells (which alternates between cornbread and White Diamonds). The way she laughs and tells me "Girl, you crazy." The way she always says that it is "good to be here." The way she makes 9 sweet potato pies every Thanksgiving and how NO ONE, I mean NO ONE can make chicken and dressing taste the way she does.
I love that I can call and ask what she is doing and it will either be, "Watching' Ol' Andy," or "Eatin' a chicken wing," or "Sittin' on the porch," or "Lookin' out the window". I love that she talks smack about her neighbors, "Them N^@@&$ know they didn't need no new mattress," and "They don't never go to work," and calls them suckas, patties, and stumps.
I love that she calls Mr. Mc, my "old man" and always makes certain to ask how he is doing whenever we talk. I love that she always has time to talk to me, about nothing at all, and it seem like the most important thing in the world. I love her cheese toast, always burnt a bit, but the best you will ever eat. I love that a 'salad', to her, is lettuce and mayonaise and a sandwich is bread and tomato.
I love that she puts people in their place with no preamble. It is what it is. No sorry and no lead in. "You don't speak for me, heifer. Now, go get my chicken," what she told Jennifer after Jennifer told her she didn't like Popeye's.
I love that she cleans her bathtub every day. I love that she won't accept that Dr. McFall has diagnosed her with early Alzheimer's. I don't accept it either, Grandma. I love that she doesn't need much. Just 2 pieces and a biscuit from Popeye's (and a snark on the "big booty black stump" who owns it), a new dress every now and then, a visit to "the church-house" and a good pair of teeth. I would give you the world, Grandma.
But most of all, I just love her for being her. Happy Birthday to my girl. I love you.
