2003-06-05 || 10:22 p.m.

|| grandma blues. ||

grandma with the white hair called tonight to tell me her legs have been hurting but the doctor says she's doing well and she's been to six card stores to look for a bon voyage card for my parents and tonight she was looking through old things and found a whole bunch of my letters and wanted to call to say hello. grammy has called me out of the blue approximately four times in my adult life, and they are always vaguely awkward and short and full of repeated i love yous and disconnected sentences. i never realize how old she is until i hear her voice like that, vaguely chopped and delayed, going on about how she should walk more and how she's been going out to dinner every once in a while. this was the max factor model. the norma jean look-alike. an extra in one of those busby berkeley dance sequences of some forgotten movie you can't find in rental stores. this is the grandma who, well over age seventy, would come over in the summertime to watch us and lie in the backyard in her leopard print bikini to 'catch a little color.' oh grammy of the gold slippers and clear plastic high heels, the perfumes i can still detect in crowds, the pink lips and perpetual marilyn monroe haircut. my grammy's getting old and she knows it. she calls us now when coming across something that reminds her of us and asks if we're too terribly busy to talk.

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