Friday, August 8, 2008

Ode to Momma Posy


It's been a tough week here are Dad - thedude headquarters. So, I thought instead of staring at the screen waiting for inspiration to strike through the smog laden cloud of exhaustion, I would invite my little sister in as a guest blogger.


To my readers (both of you, plus that one lurker), here's Toots:

Ode to Momma Posy

I called my grandma today. I don't know why I don't do that more often. She is such a funny lady. She's 87 years old (geez, is she really that old?), and she doesn't get around much on account of she doesn't have any hips anymore . . . although she has been known to walk around and cook a meal or run a vacuum for a spell. With no hip bones, you shreak? If you knew my lineage, you'd understand. This sort of rebellion against incapacitation runs deep in the female line. Just ask my mother. Get in my mom's way, and she'll beat you with her cane.

So I mentioned to my grandma that I needed to come visit her, since I haven't been to see her in (I won't say how long since it's been an embarrassingly long time). I expected her to say something nice and grandma-like, like "Yes, dear, anytime, I'd love to have you." Nope. Her response was short and sharp: "What's the DEAL?"

"Uh . . . "

You gotta love it when Grandma gives it to you straight. Mind you, this was the woman who told me when I was little to go outside and pick out my switch when I had to get a whoopin'. I stammered a bit, and then she let me off easy by changing the subject to something funny . . . something that she witnessed that I thought was hilarious and wanted to share.

This is such a Grandma story. (Well, maybe not YOUR Grandma story, but it's a Grandma Posy story for sure.)

My grandma writes poetry, and she does poetry readings at a nursing home once a month. One recent visit, a grandson was visiting his grandmother at the nursing home. He kept asking his grandmother questions like "How old are you?" and "How much do you weigh?", and the grandmother kept telling him that those questions were impolite to ask women. Later on, in front of everyone, the boy announced to his grandmother that she was 65 years old, 145 pounds, and that she got an "F" in sex . . . he said he found her license while she wasn't looking.

Now I thought that was hilarious. But then I looked at my license and saw they don't put your weight on it, so it was just a joke. But she sure convinced me. Crazy old woman.

Here are a few of my favorite poems that she wrote.

Untitled 1990 (age 69)
I’m an old woman “Okie”
I don’t drinkie, I don’t smokie
If I live to seventie,
I haven’t gone to heaventie---
I’m gonna try it, and that’s no jokie.

Silver Nights 1939 (Written in High School)
Snow falls, skies lighten, and the cold wind sighs among silver trees.
Night falls, skies darken, and the loan wolf shivers in the chilling breeze.
A pale moon, a ghostly heaven, a star to flicker and shine . . .
It’s selfish to dream,
And always seem,
That this night alone will be mine.

‘Till Then
I stand tall among it all.
The trials of life are many.
Storm clouds gather, the waters flow,
And the sky is dark and windy.
But I close my eyes. I have a dream,
Of better things to come.
The road is rough, and life is tough.
But I’ll stay ‘till my work is ended.

The last one is my favorite.

Grandma (we call her Momma Posy) is an inspiration to me. She's a tough old bird with a great sense of humor. She makes me laugh. My mom is the same way.

-- Tootsie (Dad-thedudes favorite sister)

2 comments:

Texan Mama@WhoPutMeInCharge said...

Awesome story. Fantastic poems. And here in TX they don't put your weight on the license, but they did where I used to live in the Midwest. Bastards. Now you can understand why I left.

dadthedude said...

I creep in the shadows of my sisters intellect and writing abilities. As a kid I would just rip the heads off her dolls to show her who's boss.

They actually put your weight on you license? Dude, that sucks. I'd be up there once a year to get it updated.