How I became a VW Whore...

Yesterday I went to the nursing home to spend some time with my grandmother, who is 98 years old. When I walked in she was laying in her bed with her blanket pulled up to her chin wide eyed and fearful. She flipped the blanket down and grabbed my hand holding it so tight she whispered "thank god you're here, I was scared to death" she then went sound asleep.

That was really the extent of my visit with her, but I knew I had arrived when she needed it the most. I sat listening to her breathe and remembering her as I knew her. She is the one who turned me out as a VW whore. I can remember when she got her drivers license, think about that one. I can still hear my dad telling my mom that he dared her to allow me in the car with Rosie. She was determined to drive and I can still see my Grandfather's face getting out of the car with a look of anger and fear. Grandmother had a hard time mastering her left from her right and the connection between her foot and the speed she was traveling. She drove an automatic like a straight, both feet on the pedals. I traveled with her everywhere…in her VW red beetle. I can remember how that car smelled. I can remember how she cranked up the radio and rolled the windows down flying down the road singing to the top of her lungs. We always seemed to be in a rush, delivering vegetables out of her garden, cakes, fresh eggs from the farmer down the road that she flirted with shamelessly to relatives and friends. She would get in the car with fresh eggs, butter, and milk that was so nasty and laugh at how blue she had left that poor farmers balls. I am not making this up. Most of the time it was just the two of us; but sometimes she had the car loaded with other cousins. I mean loaded even the back cubby hole behind the back seat normally had the smallest cousin.

We got use to her pulling into a stranger's yard and asking to use their bathroom. We would wait in the car, funny isn't that we knew as children this was inappropriate but she owned it and not once did she hesitate.I can remember washing her VW with Papaw and he would tell me about what a marvelous car this little red bug was. He always fussed at Grandmother about this or that, looking back now I think it was just his way of getting some of her attention. He would open the trunk and tell me to hop in, then he would holler at Grandmother. She would come out and he would make something up about the hood being messed up. She would opened it up and I would jump up and scare her. This was "our thing" and she would act surprised every time. Her little VW lost it's life in a flood in 1976 in Chilhowie. My grandfather was in the hospital dying and Chilhowie flooded. She lost everything her house, car and my Grandfather died soon after. It was a tough time.

She lived beside our local high school; after my grandfather passed away in 1976 she never remarried. I was her companion. She hated when I was in school, I couldn't run around with her. I couldn't count the times that I would be sitting in class and they would come over the intercom asking if I was in that class. They would then tell me to go and help my grandmother carry in her groceries. I would walk over and she would ask if I wanted to ride to the Dip Dog Stand or if I wanted to go to Mountain City to see her sister. She was lonely without "Mitch".

I discovered porn at her house, she had a pretty decent collection hid in the kitchen cabinet above the stove. She had numerous paperbacks of erotica, some were tasteful, but mainly they were trash. My friends would come over and we would read them out loud laughing our asses off. Grandmother was a photographer, she was a bandit with a Polaroid. She would ride around and take pictures of people's houses, trees, gardens, but the thing she loved the most was horses. I found boxes and boxes of these pictures at her house right before she went into the nursing home. My mom said those aren't of anything really, just trees and horses. I took them, I looked at them and realized that most of the time I was riding shotgun, eating junk food, and listening to bluegrass. I could tell you exactly where they were taken and which one of the crazy crocheted "tam & scarf" I had been forced to wear. She crocheted me "tams" these where malformed toboggans' as she called them; with a matching scarf. I would wear them on our adventures, getting out to pose with whatever rock or tree she wanted. None of those photos were in the boxes, and I don't know what happened to them.

She was independent, intelligent, creative, and had a wicked sense of humor. I never understood why she never remarried until later. She was truly her own person and was married to her freedom. She loved to dance and play the guitar, and there was not a joke dirty enough that she would not tell. She would sit with her legs crossed, dress always resting on the top of her knees showing off her legs. She would laugh and say that a "Lady" only wished she could sit like that. She was always kicking some new shoes, she had a true appreciation for stilettos. But…as I sat with yesterday I was so sad. She was scared and alone, totally depended on strangers to help her to do everything.

Right before I left she opened her eyes and looked at me, I said I love you Grandmother, she winked and whispered "you are getting fat Mitch."