Sunsets Aren't Always Pretty

Today around lunch time. Gran was in the kitchen mumbling under her breath. While frustratedly opening and closing the refrigerator doors saying, " that girl, what was she thinking, what did she buy, there's nothing in here!" I walked up behind her and asked her what was the matter (though I already knew).  My mom and I had just gotten back from grocery shopping.  She was looking for the usual stuff my mom buys for her lunches. I explained to her how my mom and I had only shopped for dinner meals and that everything was in the freezer. Gran is always asking,"whats for dinner?" So, while at the store my mom and I were both focusing on dinner, dinner, dinner.... Dinner is a subject that seems to create a bit of turmoil between us all. Gran feels that my moms cooking is unsurpassed. Making it an almost unbearable experience when I start dinner and Gran stands by watching my every move saying,"you know two women in the kitchen spoils the pot!" She likes her dinner early, but mom gets home from work late.  So to make it easier on us, we stocked up on quick fix meals for dinner. I told this to Gran and she paused a moment and said,"well now I'm asking, whats for lunch?" 

I returned to the kitchen a few minutes later.  Gran had two dozen eggs sitting on the counter and a big pot of water boiling on the stove.  "What are you doing, Gran? Thought you were making some lunch," I asked her. She answered, "I am putting these eggs on to boil since there is nothing to eat. I got a craving for pickled eggs, so thought I'd make a couple dozen."  I thought for just a moment, then smiled and thought this was her way of getting the rest of us to ask, "What's for breakfast?" Cause there are no more eggs!

The gardeners are here and Gran gets excited when she hears the leaf blower. She hates it, thinks they should sweep with the broom.  Every week when this happens she hollers at them from the front stoop. While Gran, again frustrated, shakes a finger at them yelling,"get away from my plants with that crazy thing!" She then becomes offended, thinking that everyone only thinks of her as a crazy old lady, shouting for no good reason.  They never stop blowing as she asks, only smile and wave their salutations back at her. And every week I tell her," I told you before Granny, they don't speak English!"

It's now the end of the day and the sun has finally set.  Gran is sitting in her rocker in the living room, warming herself by the fire.  She begins recalling her younger days,  it must have been the pickled eggs that brought this memory on. She enjoyed sharing an experience with us as she slowly rocked, about how she used to frequent a nightclub called Ziggy's,  a hip hangout for a close group of her friends in the late '30's, early '40's. As she recounts; it was a place you could get a glass of wine and have a nice dance or two.  Her friends were a bit hungry, so she walks up to the bar to buy some . . . pickled eggs! A nice looking man nicknamed Swede was sitting at the bar with a lady named Rita, "hanging all over him" as Gran put it. She overhears him say to the woman, "Here comes that beautiful redhead," and his "date" Rita, reacted by saying, "Hey, Red, come over here and give the Swede a big kiss."   As she passed them, she faked a gag reflex and said, "Over my dead body.  I wouldn't touch him with a ten-foot pole!"  I knew this man as Grandpap!