Ed note: Someone made her gravestone before she was even dead.
How fucked up is that?
***
I had two grandmothers.
Most of us do/did
One was pure Saint.
One was pure Satan
I loved them both
Let us begin with the ‘Saintly One’
She was my Daddy’s mother.
Her name was ‘Pauline’ (Born in Levelland, Texas—NATIVE TEXAN—this is important—to me–Obviously)
She was beautiful.
And pondering back on her over the years, best contemporary help I can provide:
She was exactly like Emmylou Harris,
But prettier
And believe it or don’t,
Classier.
If that is even possible.
Yep.
‘Tis.
She had so much class.
Fun trivial fact:
Pauline (Grandmother… duh… who I am writing of…)
Once confided to me during a road trip:
“I had a streak of gray hair running in my hair, ever’ since I was fourteen. (Emmylou did too, btw) Did not prevent your grandfather from marrying me… go figure.”
***
My Paternal Granddaddy
He scared me
Into insanity
***
The other one…
The ‘Maternal One’
Name of ‘Mamie’
(From Tennessee—go figger)
Well,
She weren’t no Emmylou.
Let me tell you.
Mamie was uglier than a homemade mud fence.
She was ‘Satan-on-Steroids’
I loved her.
***
This is just a preamble
I’m too drunk and lazy to do this justice right now.
Stay tuned.
I swar’ on both of their graves, I will write no other shit until I return to this one.
It is important to me.
Probably not to you.
But, then agin, it ain’t never ‘bout you, is it?
It is ‘always’ ‘bout me.
And my self-empathy.
Ain’t it?
Thanks for watching/reading.
(And for tolerating a drunken fool–me)
***
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