The Forty Days

I love my nana.  She is one of the funniest people I know, and to say that she is one-of-a-kind would be a horrible understatement.  Whenever I think about her, I smile and laugh.  She once shoved soap in my sister’s mouth as a child because my sister kept calling her “Nana Banana.”  In response to a question from a co-worker about her grandchildren, Nana once replied that she didn’t have any.  Yes, she denied my existence because “what business is it of theirs.”  (Nana works essentially as a telemarketer selling greeting cards made by handicapped persons, with a portion of the proceeds going to the handicapped artists.  So it’s kind of like a non-profit/for-profit operation, I guess.)  And whenever I visit with her, she always talks to herself, and when I ask who she’s talking to, she always replies, “You!”  (Even though we both know that isn’t the truth.)  So, being in Dallas at the same time as her, I would be doing you, dear reader, a great disservice if I did not spend an entire day with her and tell you about it.

When I first tell Nana about the idea of spending an entire day with her, her response is “O, Lord.  What do you mean by an entire day?”  When I tell her it means from the time she gets up in the morning to the time she goes to bed, she says, “In that case, I’m going to bed early that day.”  Then she asks, “How about when I get up during the night to go to the bathroom?  You gonna be there, too?”  Finally, she says, “I don’t know what we’re going to do.  Where am I supposed to take you?  The backyard?”

I wake up early this morning with excited anticipation of my day with Nana.  Nana, however, does not wake up until 10:45 am.  What is she a teenager or something?  I thought she’d wake up at around 5 am or some ridiculously early hour.  (Actually, she’s been dealing with some medical issues recently, so she has been tired and sleeping late.  But we all think she’s going to be alright, so don’t worry just yet.)

First, Nana, my sister, and I go to brunch.  During the lunch conversation, she mentions for the first time that she prefers to be called “Nan,” which some of my younger cousins have been calling her.  I refuse.  That can be her rap name–Nan B.  Upon receiving the bill, she insists on paying and an argument ensues.  “Nana,” I say, “but you don’t have any income!”  Nana: “Why don’t you yell it out to everyone, Dopey?”  I begin laughing.  Nana: “What are you laughing at?”  She then smacks me on the side of the head with the bill.  I try to help her calculate the tip.  Nana: “Be quiet, I said!”

We decide next to go to a showing of the movie District 9.  I am absolutely shocked she has even an inkling of interest in seeing this movie.  On the way to the theater, my sister and I start talking about Rock Band.  Nana informs us: “All the new music now is garbage.  Disgusting.  They all look like freaks.”

Going to see a movie with my nana is always a treat, mostly because she talks throughout the entire movie–to us, to herself, and to the characters on the screen.  Today was no different.  After the main character faints in one scene, she says, “stupid jerk.”  At one point she says, “Why don’t they just blow up the whole place.”  After the movie is over, I ask her how she liked it.  Nana: “It was different.  Not much else to say about that.”

When we get home, we talk about her family history, which was never fully clear to me.  Here’s a synopsis.  She was born to two Russian immigrants in Jersey City, New Jersey.  Her mother, Sadie, came to the United States as an infant.  Her father, Samuel (we used to call him Daddyboy Sam for some reason), came to America after deserting the Russian army.  Upon arriving in America, he worked until he had enough money to bring his mother and brother here, as well.  Eventually, Daddyboy Sam owned several home furnishing/furniture stores, at which Nana helped out on occasion.  Nana met my grandfather, Walter (we called him Daddyboy), when she was 21, married at 23, and had the first of three children (my mother) at 25.  She moved from Brooklyn to Ft. Lauderdale, where she currently resides, in 1975.

I then ask Nana about her opinion regarding some of the issues of the day.

Health care reform:  It costs too much.

Barack Obama:  Don’t ask.  I don’t like him.

George Bush:  I like George, what can I say?

Gay marriage:  Wonderful.  Let them do what they want.  What do I care?

Education:  What about it?  It’s not like it was.  One’s dumber than the next when they graduate now.

Joe Biden:  Ughh.  He’s an idiot.  God forbid, he should be our President.

Social security:  There was no increase in payments this year.  Yet, the government is giving money to every Tom, Dick, and Harry.  It’s disgusting.

Peace in the Middle East:  It’ll never happen.  Bomb them all.

Iran:  That Ahmadinejad is a jackass.  But a smart jackass, unfortunately.  How does he continue to stay in power?  Hugo Chavez–another beauty.

Dance parties:  What’s a dance party?

Soda pop:  Cut it out.

Her grandson:  You’re brilliant.

(Actually, Nana did have some good opinions regarding current issues, but these were the funniest responses.)

Soon thereafter, the entire family goes to dinner to celebrate her birthday, which is in about one week.  My mother picks the restaurant based solely on the fact that she received a coupon in the mail.  (Like mother, like daughter…?)  We have a nice family dinner, and when we get home, Nana goes off to bed.

I am very happy and fortunate that I had this time to spend an entire day with my nana.  I love her so very much.  She’s the best and funniest nana in all the land.  I hope upon hope that she overcomes the medical issues that are currently affecting her.  My life would surely be a duller and drearier place without her in it.  You hear that, Nana, I love you!!!

Important reminder: Don’t forget to enter The Forty Days Contest!  I could be your personal assistant for one day.  Go to this page and leave a comment explaining why you deserve to have me as your P.A. by 5 pm today.  Do it now.