I went and visited my Grandmother recently. I don't get to spend much time with her, so what little time there is, I enjoy it. It's always a good time to see my Nanny, except when we have to go into town.....and SHE drives.

I ask myself, has she always driven this slow? Have 5 year olds on big wheels always been able to pass her? I can can feel the stress manifest throughout me, my teeth gnashing, trying to be as polite and patient as I can, but it's impossible. I command her to stop at the flower shop so I can buy roses to throw out the window, as if we're in a parade. It sure as hell feels that way. I throw the flowers out and give my best blueberry queen wave, only to be answered by several middle fingers. Nanny is oblivious. I am growing impatient.

I must confess, I look forward to the days when everything slows down, when Wheel of Fortune becomes a priority, and the topics of conversation are Crown Pilot crackers and Gin Rummy, but not today. I'm going nuts in this 1967 Plymouth Valiant over here. And what a shiny, beautiful piece of Detroit steel she is. The sheer power of its slanted six cylinders is enough to intimidate any mere mortal. The speedometer goes to 120, but I don't believe the needle has met him yet.

I don't think it has met 50. This slick ride has all the posh features a Grandmother seeks, blinkers, (sometimes) horn, (sometimes) brakes, (rarely) and a high powered AM radio blasted on your country station of choice. (always) And air bags? I could foresee an accident and make a balloon puppet in the time it would take to impact with the inanimate object. This object would most likely be the garage door, which she forgot to open. (again)

Yes, I'm afraid Nanny is losing her mind sometimes, she seems a little forgetful, and I can understand that. Sometimes I'm forgetful of all the details. But it only happens on Sundays. I'm not all that nervous. Another trait that my Grandmother has is the power of the dumb gifts. Ah yes, the dumb gifts. Don't we as Grandchildren love these? It never fails. Every Christmas, Nanny asks me what I'd like for Christmas. Every year I tell her the same thing. A gift certificate. Nothing spends like a gift certificate. I never get one. I get something that she thinks I'll find useful. How ironic is it that what she thinks I'll find useful and what I find useful are completely seperate entities? By the time this issue comes to print, I'll have just celebrated my 25th birthday. Wanna know what Nanny got me? The Lawrence Welk collection. She felt that it would be something I could utilize. Thanks Nanny, but I was kind of hoping I was going to get the pink sweater again this year. Well, her Birthday is in November, and I'll get her something I think she could really find useful. A radar detector.