Grandma

Taking a real look at people can bring revelations untold. Seventy five year old Mrs. Jorelson was in Wally World the other day and I saw her buy 25 one and a half pound exercise weights. I just happened to be outside after she checked out and watched her put them in her trunk, one at a time.

"Nice day Mrs. Jorelson." That sweet smile had oatmeal cookies and lemonade written all over it. "Oh my, it's truly a blessed day indeed sonny."

She lives down the block from me and you see her practically skip by every morning practicing her fitness regimen. There is a loop about a mile long in our neighborhood and I just happened to be walking near her house as she began. What I saw was a little girl in this old woman's body. She was sort of singing as she briskly hop skipped along swinging one of her new weights.

"Twenty five, stay alive. Twenty four shut the door. Twenty three for you and me. Twenty two I have a shoe."

Four houses up she bent over and scratched Peterson's dog Princess behind her ears. Princess loved her. She rounded the corner and slowed her pace just a bit. We live in Texas and even though it was early it was 93 degrees out.

"Seventeen don't be mean. Sixteen keep your hands clean."

Malloy's gate was open and she stopped for a second to latch it for them. She was more walking than skipping now but still singing and swinging that weight. When we rounded the next corner she stopped under a shade tree to catch her breath and twitter at a small bird in the branch above her. Off she went again.

"Eleven I'm going to Heaven. Number ten I'm going to win."

By corner number four the weight was hanging limp by her side and the walk resembled more of a slog. A little Chihuahua scampered up..."Did she just kick that dog? I think that old lady kicked that dog." The song was more of a chant now.

"Number five stay alive number four walking's a chore."

At the bottom of the loop she was kind of bent over a little and holding her hip with one hand. Beads of sweat were dripping off her forehead and the corners of her mouth were racing each other for the bottom of her chin. She stepped off the sidewalk near her flowerbed and threw that weight at her neighbor's cat. She tagged the little guy a good one but it flew out of there so fast its tail was hardly keeping up.

She smiled and headed for her door.

"Number two buckle my shoe number one I have twenty four left and I'll get you yet you little son of a bitch."

Sometimes, when you see somebody all grouchy and crabby, you shouldn't form an instant opinion. They might be sweet, gentle people that have simply reached the bottom of their loop.

Driving tip: Give yourself a little running room on an on-ramp. I get a kick out of seeing seven cars bumper to bumper approaching a crowded highway. No doubt there will be a space seven cars long for them to merge into when they get to that point. If the car in front of you is a good distance ahead and you are paying attention to the interstate you can find a space, adjust your speed and go on down the highway. Don't worry about the guy behind you, it doesn't matter how fast you go he is probably back there about nine inches. If your car is twenty three feet long, nine inches ahead of him and you guys are doing sixty miles an hour he could have a problem if there is only thirty feet of space in the oncoming traffic. He is going to have to slow down and the car nine inches behind him could cause complications. Don't be either of those guys.  

In California, they installed traffic lights on the on-ramps that let one car go every five seconds. The cars leave the bottom of the ramp spaced pretty well. Most Californians have figured out that if you really mash on your gas you can still be nine inches away from the leaders and try to merge seven cars at a time. Pretty hilarious really.