First of all, my grandmother did not go by "grandmother." She was much too hip and unconventional for that.
Ann Crain Ott was affectionately called "Gann" by her grandchildren and a few others.
She wasn't exactly what you might call a normal grandmother. Of course, she did all of the things that good grandmas do. For example, I can't remember a time when I walked into her house without being greeted by the smells and the sounds of something delicious sizzling on the stove. Gann had three freezers, and they were usually emptied during the course of our visits. She whipped up everything she had in her kitchen, whether we asked for it or not. Once Gann cooks for you, Thanksgiving seems like a normal meal in comparison.
My favorite thing about Gann was that she kept it real, so to speak.
Meaning, Gann didn't sugarcoat things. You know that friend who always blurts out the things everyone else is thinking but is too afraid to say? Well, that was Gann. She wasn't sheepish about it, either. Gann could take a regular sassy statement to the next level you wouldn't have even considered. Some of her go-to phrases include, but are not limited to,
"She was lookin like the back end of hard times!" Translation: That chick uglay.
"Go in there and get that thing on the deal." Translation: I need something from the other room, and I need you to get it for me, but I'm too lazy to get it, and far too lazy to explain where it is.
"Are you BLIND, child?" Translation: This was her humorous jab directed towards anyone who was unable to find "that thing on the deal."
"What's time to a hog?" Translation: Why should it make a difference to me?
My personal favorite was a phrase she would use in either humorous self-defense or as an all-encompassing explanation of her being: "I'm a fat old lady on a fixed income." This she would say with a contended grin as she rested folded hands across her stomach and wiggled her toes gleefully, all the while leaned back in her favorite recliner.
Gann loved old-time music, and when she wasn't cooking upon our arrival, she was doing crossword puzzles in the den while big-band swing played from the TV and filled the house. When my brothers and I were looking for something to do, we were welcome to browse through her vinyls and play them on the record-player at will. On her big Louisiana lot, we could ride her riding lawn-mower around the pine trees. When I was younger, and she was able to get around better, she took us places in this snazzy vehicle:
When she passed away around my 16th birthday, this car became mine; I drive it to this day. It's a comical car with red interior, a clock that doesn't work, and squeaky windshield wipers. Even so, I love that old thing; it reminds me of my Gann.
I'm glad my Gann is a grandmother worth missing. She's the only one I ever knew, and that might be a good thing, because she set the bar pretty high.
