So, I had lunch with my Gramma today. All in all, it was one of the stranger afternoons I've had lately.

(First of all, rewind to about two weeks ago. I had lunch with the other Gramma. We went to Applebee's. I tried (OK, I didn't try very hard.) to pick up the tab. She wouldn't let me. Instead, she gave me money. "Make sure you don't spend it all on books, sweetie." I took her on a few errands, we went back and chatted with Grampa for a few minutes, and then Gramma began to drop hints that I probably had other things to do. I spent all the money she had given me at Barnes and Noble, then spent some of my own money at Lands End, just so I could feel like a Rebel, and still mention stuff that wasn't books when I wrote her a thankyou note.)

Today, I drove to the other Gramma's house. I was fully intending to take her out to eat. I wouldn't even let her try to pick up the tab. I would guard the tab with my life, if I had to.

I walked in the door, and she handed me a teddy bear. Just go back and read that sentence again. She bought me a teddy bear. I don't really have anything against teddy bears, of course, but I haven't been really passionate about them in 20 years. Well, ok. 10. I was kind of a late bloomer.

I thanked her. She pointed out that the teddy bear was wearing a necklace. The necklace turned out to be an Ana-sized bracelet. Pearl-like things, interspersed with black shinylike things. I was relieved. We were back on familiar ground.

My late Grandpa was an art teacher. He also really enjoyed making jewelry for Gramma, and she enjoyed wearing it. She has, so she claims, far far more jewelry than she knows what to do with. Every time anyone has come to her home for the last nine years, they have left with something Grampa made. I remember it really pissed me off when I was in high school. "Jesus! This is his love! You can't just give away 50 years of love!" But over the years, I've realized that she does indeed have an awful lot of it. And of course, it's better that she gets to see the people she loves wearing it, or something like that.

So, I scored a bracelet. It makes me feel good, to see it on my wrist. Thanks, Grampa.

Then, things got a little strange again. I grabbed my purse, and was all set to ask her where she wanted to go for lunch. She told me to make myself comfortable in the kitchen. She pulled out a can of tuna and a ziplock baggie of potato chips. She made me tuna casserole. You'd better read that sentence again, too. She made me tuna and potato chip casserole. I love her to death, and it's the thought that counts, but I can't help giggling. She made me tuna casserole. Tuna! Casserole! With potato chips!

While she was cooking, I looked around what I could see of the house from the kitchen. It was just as I remembered it, only more so. There were two pictures Grampa had painted of Camp. (Some other time, I'll tell you all about Camp, and the lake) There were a couple of his wood sculptures. There was the stained glass thing I had made in elementary school. There were cool shaped bottles full of colored glass beads in the windowsill. I had a sudden vision of me in 50 years, living in an identical house. She's got my fascination with Toys and Shiny Things, but all her Shiny Things are all classy-like. She had one of those picture frames filled with sand but the frame was silver, and the sand fell into a sailboat shape. Classy. The entire kitchen was plastered with magnets and comic strips I remembered from 15 years ago. (Frank and Ernest, sitting in a bar: "It must be Rheumatism. Each night I get stiff in another joint!" And another one: "My psychiatrist told me to stop keeping things bottled up!" They just don't run cartoons like that in the newspaper anymore.)

We talked of books. I told her of my adventures at the library book sales. She asked what sort of things I like to read. As always when faced with that question, I went, "Um..." I don't think I even know what sorts of things I like to read. I like a lot of sci fi and fantasy, but I hate all the cliches. Spare me your Quests and Magical Artifacts and Last Man Alive, unless of course you have a Twist that is entirely unlike any of the now cliched twists I've read recently. Humorous stuff is usally pretty good, but again, I can think of a lot of things that were described as humor that I didn't care for at all. I like specific authors. Mostly. There have been cases where I loved one book or story, and then just couldn't get into anything else by the same person. I like one particular author's take on one particular story.

The funny thing is, Gramma seemed to be coming from a similarly paradoxical viewpoint. "I like some science fiction, but I hate it when it gets too unbelievable." What on earth can you say to a statement like that? The whole reason you define something as sci-fi is because it has elements that aren't really credible. Then, I started thinking. Just because I can't think of any stories about time travel or trips to Jupiter that actually could happen doesn't mean they aren't out there. She mentioned Bradbury. It's been a long time since I read any Bradbury. Maybe that is a logical statement. Maybe I just don't have a clue. AAH! I don't do anything but read books! Why don't I know more about them? Why don't I even know what kind of books I like?

So there I was, suddenly questioning my entire purpose of existance as I had been defining it while my Gramma prepared tuna casserole. She brought me a pen and a pad of paper, and began listing authors for me. Daphne Dumaurier. Ben Ames Williams. Tom Tryon. I don't think I've even heard of any of these people. And you call yourself a lover of books screamed the voices in my head. I sat there numbly writing it all down. Just because it seemed like a good idea at the time, I tried to think of a list of books I could recommend to her. Angela's Ashes seemed like a good book for a Gramma. I wasn't too sure about Connie Willis, but I wrote it down (well, ok, Doomsday Book starts out with a time machine, but then it's mostly historical fiction, I think. That's realistic, right?) Then, I wrote down Slaughterhouse-Five. I don't even know how to justify that one. I really wasn't thinking very clearly at all.

So, we talked of books, and she made me tuna casserole. We ate said casserole. I tried desperately to think of a way to compliment it. "Um, it has a really good flavor." We had ice cream and cookies for dessert. "These cookies were made by elves, you know." Blink. Blink. "They're good people, those elves."

Two hours had passed. Gramma asked if I wanted to stay for a game of something. I told her I really had to get going. Next time, I'll drag D. or Lynne along with me, and maybe then I'll have the strength for cardgames.

So, it was a strange afternoon. I got to be uncomfortable in an entirely different set of ways than I had with my other Gramma. This one at least made the effort to be interested in the stuff I was interested in. And she gave me a bracelet that makes me smile. But she also gave me a teddy bear and a series of minor nervous breakdowns. On the whole, I'd have to say the afternoon was a draw.

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