Grandma, can I call you "Nana?"

I was five when I made that request. My friend Cassidy called her grandmother "Nana" and so I I wanted to call my grandmother "Nana" too. I mean, why not? It had a nice ring to it and more importantly, it was personal. My grandmother would be set apart enough to have her own special name. Maybe not unique, but she would be my Nana. And that was special. In my little fairyland fantasy imagination it was settled. Grandma would have a shiny new name and it would be special. She would be Nana. Forever my Nana.
My fantasy came to an abrupt halt when she responded, "Nope. You can call me "Grandma" and that's how I like it." What? The fairies and the flowers all fell away. Just plain old Grandma? How could this be? But we were supposed to be different. Things were supposed to change. It was all supposed to be shiny and new and sparkly. She carried on with her knitting and I drudged off to put together a little tea party, as was my usual habit, on the coffee table of her guest living room, complete with a tiny copper kettle, a carved wooden nut cracker, and numerous other nick knacks collected from all over the world.

21 years later, I'm rather glad that I never called her "Nana." There has been only one place in my entire life that has remained constant, that has never changed. Grandma and Grandpa's house. I've lived in many countries, lived among numerous groups of people, lived in several States, moved to too many different houses and apartments, ridden in dozens of different cars, always changing always moving. But at Grandma and Grandpa's, everything stays the same. The garage always smells of tires, oil, carpet, and the tiniest hint of garbage. I could always expect for there to be a box full of plastic balls of various sizes, bats and small golf clubs next to the back door porch. The contents of the box have dwindled over the years and the box might be pushed back a little further on the shelf. But they are always there. I could always expect my grandpa's jewelry making station in a corner of the garage to hold a delightful assortment of gold dust, silver, rubies, diamonds, pearls, tools, magnifying glasses, and an old squeaky chair. There was always a ring in the making, a clasp to be repaired, a knotted chain waiting to be unraveled. You can still count on there being a stash of sodas in the outside fridge, ice cream in the freezer, and ice cream cones stashed in the cupboard. If there aren't any in the cupboard, you can bet your socks that there is a spare box out on the snack shelf in the garage. On a sunny morning you will find a large pitcher out on a chair brewing some sun tea, and clothes flapping about on the clothesline. During a hot day, you can count on a lunch of sandwiches, chips and a coke out on the patio, all served on paper plates, of course, with a basket weave holder under your plate, to keep it from bending. In the morning you will be shaken awake to the words, "Breakfast is getting cold. Go on, get up and eat." And you can expect there to be bacon or sausage, toast and jelly or biscuits and honey and always, always, grape juice. Sometimes you might get lucky and score some C'ptain Crunch or Lucky Charms. The water in the kitchen tastes like blood (well, iron really, but when I was a kid I refused to drink it because it tasted like blood to me) and the water in the bathrooms is treated with softeners, making you feel like you can never rinse the soap off, which makes for a longer shower, gaining you a few bangs on the door. At the end of the hallway there is a set of swinging "saloon" doors, which always made me think I was in a western, and when you swing yourself dramatically through them, you stare directly into a mirror on the opposite wall that is decorated with an assortment of Mardi Gras masks and beads. In the family living area, Grandma and Grandpa always have a love seat set, where they sit in the evenings to watch Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy. The wall behind them holds their wall of fame...or shame, depending on your art skills. The wall sports the good and unfortunately the bad artwork of any family member who would dare offer a piece for its decoration. They are proud of each and every one. I have never offered a piece. Ever. Any time the family is together there will always be games. The most consistent one over the years has been Yahtzee, but others have included Uno, Zilch, Balderdash, Pit, Guestures, Apples to Apples, Scattergories.....Grandma's Vanity always has Chanel perfume and lipstick and Grandpa's bureau has a comb and a days-of-the-week pill sorter. Her bathroom always has Dove hand soap, and therefore, smells like Dove hand soap. At Christmas you will find a mistletoe hanging from the ceiling light at the front entrance and poinsettias on the table, along with gift baskets that friends from all over have lovingly sent them. On Sundays you will always dress nicely (preferably with a skirt, if you are a lady), go to church, and eat lunch afterward at a cafeteria. The barn shed in the back of their lawn always smells of musty grass and in front of it you can expect something to be planted. It used to be a full on garden, but these days it tends to be mostly tomatoes. The one thing that has truly remained, and I am positive will never waver, is their love and enjoyment of birds. There are birdhouses scattered around, a birdbath (that I was often asked to spray clean in the evenings) and most importantly, the birdhouse. The one perched up right in front of their family room window. The one that if a special bird, such as a cardinal or a bluejay appears, we all stay still for a moment, so as to not scare it away. Hummingbirds, too. Grandma's favorite.

My Grandparents don't like change, and I am glad they don't. They have been my one true constant, and I appreciate that deeply. They have demonstrated to us all the importance of loving one another, of being faithful to one another, of being crazy about each other regardless of age and circumstance. They have been great encouragers of joy and laughter, of giving and generosity. They have been ever ready to teach us things, to tell us of their lives, their choices, their experiences. Most importantly, they have passed on to us the Truth. They have believed in God, believed God, and lived out their lives loving Him and serving Him by serving others and helping others. Theirs has been a legacy of simplicity and contentment.

To be honest, some things do change. Grandma has cancer. Grandpa grunts when he gets up out of his seat, and often times could use a strong arm to hoist him up. They rarely cook anymore and you are likely to find them hanging out with all the other non-cooking old fogies at Hardee's for breakfast...where they share one biscuit. The box of balls is probably really not much there anymore. But the ice cream is. = ]

Probably the change that bothers me the most is that every time that I say goodbye to them now, which is usually once a year in between each time, I think, "Will this be....?" I can't bring myself to write it. I can't hardly even bring myself to think it....

Who needs a "Nana" after all, when I have such a great un-ordinary Grandma? And a Grandpa who has always called me......George???

It's always better when we're together