Peenie Curfew

Well...The Nightwatchman was on alert again this weekend. Except this time, it was Peenie who put him on active duty--not the garage door or the lights. Sorry, Uncle Toddie! We should really get you a badge!

Missed "Peenie Curfew" again (cause that's what I'm going to start calling it) on Saturday night. James and I did a sunset hike at Crowder's Mountain (highly recommend) and dinner at Dish in Charlotte's Midtown area (also highly recommend) and coffee at Amelie's (again, highly recommend--James always bats 1000% in the planning category) and I didn't get back to Greenville until really late. Or, in other words, at a "non-Peanut approved" hour.

Whoops?

You see, when you're 25 and you've lived on your own for a few years, you kind of forget about the whole idea of a curfew (what's that, again?). So when the thought of "Peenie Curfew" DID occur to me in the wee-small hours of the morning, it was one of those Catch-22 moments. I was damned if I did, damned if I didn't. Like, "Hmmmm...should I call Peanut and tell her I'm going to be late, possibly waking her up out of a dead sleep and freaking her out? Or...should I NOT call Peanut and risk her waking up out of a dead sleep, seeing that I'm not there and, in turn, freaking out?" Yep. Lose, lose.

Well friends, I went for a third option--the optimistic option of hoping that maybe, just MAYBE, the Peanut wouldn't wake up, and all would be well in the world. 

Yea...didn't happen. Option two was what happened. Peanut woke up, saw I wasn't there, freaked out, and called The Nightwatchman. Poor Uncle T. She woke him up out of a dead sleep and asked him if the POLICE should be called to come out looking for me! Thankfully, he said no. Told the little nut to go back to bed, that I should be home soon, and if I wasn't home by daylight, then MAYBE a missing persons report should be filed.

Thanks for being the voice of reason, Uncle T!

Sure enough, I was back before dawn. Went to bed, and when I got up for breakfast, I got a tongue-lashing from the Peanut. I took it, gave her a hug, told her I was sorry, and hoped that was the end of it.

...it wasn't. If there's an Edwards woman trait other than being a "mouth of the South", it's knowing how to lay on the guilt. Peanut and mom, in particular, lay it on as thick as peanut butter. In fact, that's what I'm going to start calling Peenie's guilt trips: Peanut Butter. See what I did, there? Ha! Forgive me, I (cornily) digress...

But, yea. Even though I just threw mom under the bus in the guilt department, I'm going to champion her as my hero yesterday. Peanut told her the events of the evening before, and mom said, "Mother, Katy's 25. When I was 25, I was in New York and you had no clue as to my whereabouts. So leave it alone. She's not 16, she's an adult, she can make her own decisions, and you don't need to worry."

Thanks, mom! You rock!

So now, all is well in the world. Peanut, myself, and The Nightwatchman all got a full night's sleep last night, and I haven't had any helpings of Peanut Butter since yesterday!

I'll leave you with this:

On Sundays, Peanut and I have gotten in the habit of walking the bridge at Falls Park and eating lunch at Coffee Underground. She says she likes to go "where the young people are". 

What Not to Wear

NEWSFLASH! Peenie has found a new TV show: What Not to Wear. And it's a good thing too, friends! Cause I was getting plumb sick of watching the O'Reilly Factor every night. Really, just FOX News in general. Question: is every female anchor over there a blonde, now? Sure seems like it. Gotta be something in the kool-aid. Anyway, I'm happy with the switch in mine and Peenie's nightly programming. Mom and I used to watch What Not to Wear together, and now it's something I can share with Peanut, too! I've always thought of Stacy and Clinton as kindred spirits, and now Peanut does, too! Yep, it's pretty much her new favorite thing. Except she likes for me to fast-forward to the "fun" part--the final quarter of the show when the makeover candidate reveals their "new look".

It's okay, Peanut. I get you. The "fun" part is my favorite part, too.

So a few nights a week, we've gotten into the habit of selecting a new episode of the show on demand, brewing some herbal tea, and critiquing the outfits, haircuts and makeup while we giggle at Stacy and Clinton's shenanigans. Peanut wants to go on the show! But I told her she is much too fashionable to be a candidate for a makeover. However, she could definitely be a television personality. Heck, she's already got her own blog!

I'll leave you with this:

I've been going through kitty withdrawals. I am a cat-lover, and really miss my Jamie-Cat (died almost a year ago) and Gus Gus, my roommate Christie's cat, from back home. They're such comforting little creatures and so darn cute! Anyway, when I got home last night there was a little cat in the driveway. She was very friendly and ran right up to me! Nuzzled my legs, let me rub her tummy--even let me hold her! Her collar said her name was Tulip. We bonded. So here's a picture of my neighbor and new friend, Tulip:

 

Oh Say, Can You See?

The telephones in Peanut's house play The Star-Spangled Banner and ring at the same time.

Yea. It's the strangest. 

And not exactly the first thing you want to hear when you're trying to pry yourself out of bed in the morning. Cause who wants to sing, "Oh say, can you see..." when it's too early to, in fact...see? Yea, no offense Francis Scott Key, but waking up to your old national tune makes me want to rip my ears off. Don't get me wrong, it is a fine piece of music and an honored American tradition. For sporting events? Perfect. Presidential inaugurations? Absolutely necessary. 6 am at Peenie's house? Makes me want to spit nails. And I can't change it to another tone, because the little nut won't be able to hear it.
So I'm coming for you, Mr. Key. Ready yourself. 

But then again...maybe I should cut Mr. Key some slack. I should really be going after the phone company that made that particular ringtone an option, right? Right.

So obviously, the phone is kinda making me crazy, friends. But I'm also becoming a little schizophrenic about it. Cause even though that ringtone is annoying as HELL, er...I mean, HECK, I get a little upset when Peanut picks it up and it stops mid-verse. Yea, I don't know if it's my musical background or if I'm just crazy, but THE SONG MUST BE FINISHED! It’s like, “O’ER THE LAND OF THE FREE, AND THE HOME OF THE…Hello? Edward's residence.” So disappointing. So I’ve started just belting out whatever is left, “BRAVE!”. Peenie has no idea what I’m doing. She just looks at me like I’m weird and gives me a little half-smile.

Oh, and the funniest part of all? How about this conversation:
---
Me: Peenie, why do your phones play The Star-Spangled Banner?

Peenie: What?

Me: WHY do your PHONES play the STAR-SPANGLED-BANNER?

Peenie: Katy, I don't know what you're talking about!
---
…if that’s not proof she needs a hearing-aid, I don’t know what is.

I’ll leave you with this:

Peanut’s sweet tooth has reached an all-time high. Last night, I was baking Pumpkin Chocolate Chip Muffins for an AmeriCorps meeting. I always make extra, and some of them were cooling on top of the stove. I left the kitchen for a moment, and when I came back, two were missing and Peanut was grinning and chewing. “Goooooood!”, she said.

What the Heck?!

Peanut and I are beginning to rub off on each other. She's using my phrases, and my nose is beginning to run.

When something shocks me, like many other human beings I usually say, "What the hell?!". However, since I am now living with my grandmother, I've had to edit some of my usual phrases so she'll like me and keep me in the will. Just kidding. I edit because I LOVE her, and I don't want to upset her! Therefore, "What the hell?!" has now become, "What the heck?!", and Peanut used it last night.

After dinner, we were sitting in the living room. Peanut was going through her mail and applying some more Orange Flip, and I, being a total unashamed product of my generation, was texting, checking emails, changing my profile picture on Facebook to a less summery option because FALL IS NOW HERE (yes, my profile pics change with the seasons...deal with it), and scouring the new Real Simple for autumnal recipes. Side note: the new issue has a kitty posing with a pumpkin on the cover! Oh. My. Gosh. Couldn't resist the cuteness! Anyway...I digress. Peanut looked up at me from her compact mirror (it has a Perry for President sticker on the back of it, friends) and said, "Call Momma?". So I picked up my phone and dialed my mom. It was around 7:15. She was probably either cooking or eating, so she didn't answer. I ended the call and told Peanut that she didn't pick up, to which the little nut exclaimed, "What the heck?!"

I about died.

So here's my "What the heck?!" moment. Since I can remember, Peenie has been Queen of the Tissue Box. Her nose is always running. Not in a "ew-gross-she-really-needs-to-wipe-her-face" kind of way, but in a "it-seems-like-she-always-has-the-sniffles" kind of way. Her purse is forever filled to the brim with Kleenex, as are her pockets, and she leaves a little trail of white crumpled tissue balls wherever she goes. Well, friends, since I'm rubbing off on her, I guess she's now rubbing off on me. We've just passed the five week mark, and my nose is running just as much as hers. So, between the two of us, I'm about ready to go buy a teacher's supply worth of Kleenex. Sniffle, sniffle. WHY is this happening? Sniffle, sniffle. It's not even cold outside yet! What. The. HELL?! I mean...heck.

Please don't tell Peanut I said hell.

I'll leave you with this:

A picture of Peanut in her typical "going out" outfit, complete with leopard jacket and all the trimmings!

Happy Dance!

Mom left Greenville yesterday morning after I had gone to work. On mornings where we're both at the house, we try to leave in shifts so Peanut doesn't get too sad. I left for work around 8:15, so mom left for Greensboro around 10, giving the little nut adequate time to adjust to our absence. However, 15 minutes down the road, mom realized that she had *dun dun dun* left her cell phone! (Gasp, eeeeghad, woe is me, etc.) No, but in all seriousness, this is VERY serious. Mega dire straights. Because unlike leaving your cell at a restaurant or a friend's house where you can just walk back in and claim it, Peanut's house is different. Why, you ask? Because, as I have told you, she CANNOT hear. So here mom is, driving back to the house, PRAYING that when she gets there, she can get back inside. As she relayed this information to me last night, she said, "Katy, I prayed that The Lord would help Peenie hear me trying to get in." Well friends, He did!

Peanut was UPSTAIRS which is the worst possible place in the entire house for her to hear the doorbell, phone, or much less, someone knocking. But guess what? The little nut heard something. She thought she was going crazy, but says The Lord spoke to her and told her that mom was downstairs. So she went downstairs, opened the door, and they both did a little happy dance. Mom, because Peanut heard her and answered the door. And Peanut, because she thought mom was back again! Wish I had been there to take a video, durn it.

I'll leave you with this:

Last night, Peanut and I had leftover chili for dinner! A lot of you have emailed me for the recipe, so I'm going to share it here! Mom and I give full credit of its yumminess to my aunt, Amy Chamblee. Fun fact: it has Hershey's Cocoa in it, which really adds to the richness of flavor! Enjoy! It's sure to make you do a happy dance!

Aunt Amy's Hearty Chili:

3-4 lbs. of good quality stew meat extra lean, cut into bite size chunks

3 lbs. Neese's Country Style sausage

2 lg. onions

4 cloves garlic, minced

4 T. olive oil

2 "big" cans of diced tomatoes 

1 can tomato sauce

6 T chili powder 

3 T cumin 

2 T oregano 

1 can pinto beans, drained 

1 lb. can baked beans, drained

2 cans kidney beans, drained 

2 t. salt

2 T sugar 

1 T cocoa 

1 can diced chilies 

Saute onion and garlic in olive oil. Brown meat and sausage. Drain well. Add tomatoes with liquid. Add tomato sauce, chili powder, cumin, oregano, baked beans, salt, sugar and cocoa. Simmer 2 hrs, stirring often. It will have a tendency to burn. Add kidney beans and chilies. Cook another 1/2 hr longer.  Serve with grated sharp cheddar cheese and sour cream. Diced spring onions are also a nice addition.

Also, kudos to mom for taking the time to type it up!

The Nightwatchman and the Mouths of the South

Hello, friends!

It was a busy weekend of visitors at the house! Mom arrived early Saturday afternoon (just in time for lunch at Word of Mouth), and James, my boyfriend, got in around 5. Though I gave him the option of meeting up downtown, he bravely agreed to say hello to mom and Peenie. Yes, I think he might deserve a medal for being willing to subject himself to (though it was brief) meeting the “mouths of the South” (as my brothers and dad call them) at the same time—a situation that many-a-man would run from. But he handled it like a champ, and Peenie later said (and mom agreed) that she liked him and that he had “nice teeth”, which believe me, is the highest compliment you can get from an Edwards!

Peanut was “all jacked up” on Saturday morning to see mom (not much else gets her as excited), and she squealed with glee when she heard the garage door open. Soon after, mom came upstairs to greet us. She was wearing jeans, a white shirt, and a scarf. This is what went down:

---

Peenie (Looking at mom’s jeans): SUE! Those dudes are TIGHT! How’d you get those on?!

Mom: They’re skinny jeans, mom. They’re like leggings…a little stretchy cause they have some lycra in them. They’re comfortable!

Peenie: Skinny jeans? YOU’RE skinny! Sue, you wouldn’t last five minutes in a blizzard! Men want some meat! Not some little weasel that’s just falling out!

Mom (sarcastically): Thanks, mom. I’ll try to remember that.

---

 

…and now you understand why they’re called the “mouths of the South”.

After a few minutes of catching up with mom, we headed to Word of Mouth for lunch and then to The Fresh Market to purchase ingredients for my Aunt Amy’s chili and for my very own Quiche Lorraine—our two culinary goals for the weekend. As you know, Peanut fights me on my kitchen use, but when mom comes to town it’s two against one, so we knock out as much cooking as possible. By the way, both of these recipes are DELICIOUS (if I do say so myself), so let me know if any of you would like to have them! Anyway, once we got back home, mom and I started on the chili while Peanut stared out the window and bemoaned the torrential downpour that was going on outside. (We were just glad that there was something to distract her from our kitchen usage.) The little nut HATES storms, friends. Hates ‘em. She says that when she was growing up on the farm in Kentucky, she watched barns and houses “burn to the ground” after storms came through. So to this day, she becomes really fearful when the weather is  a-ragin’. So as we cooked, we tried to calm her down with family memories until she changed the subject to my outfit choice for the day, and told me to “go put on some heels and a cute skirt”. I refused, politely. A response which prompted her to try and “sway” me for the next 30 minutes, which proved as good as a distraction as any, so I just let her do it!

By the time James came to pick me up at 5, the chili was finished, and Peanut and mom were ready for a cozy night at the house. We said our goodbyes and headed downtown for the evening, and mom says that she and Peenie went to bed around 9.

This is where the story gets pretty funny, friends.

James and I stayed out pretty late (if you’ve ever seen downtown Greenville, you’d understand why—it’s GORGEOUS), and it was after 1 when he dropped me off at the house. It was dark outside, of course, and we knew that mom and Peanut were sleeping, so we very quietly opened the garage door and turned the basement lights on so we could say goodnight to each other. All of the sudden, my cell phone started ringing, and both of us froze. We were being quiet as mice! Had we woken up the Peanut?!

Nope. It was my Uncle (and backdoor neighbor) Tom (aka: the nightwatchman).

---

Me (whispering and confused): Hello…?

Tom: Katy? It’s Toddie. Hope I didn’t wake you. But the garage door is open and the basement lights are on!

Me: That’s ok, you didn’t wake me! Um…I know. I’m actually IN the basement right now. My boyfriend’s dropping me off. He was…uh, just leaving.

Tom (chuckling): Oh…well, that’s awkward! Sorry! Ha! Goodnight!

---

…busted by the nightwatchman. To make matters funnier, he had called mom before he called me, which woke BOTH Peenie and her out of a dead sleep. So the moral of this story is, even if you’re trying to be as quiet as a field mouse, if you’re living with family, you still might wake up the entire block!

Yesterday morning we made a big breakfast--Toddie brought us his homemade blueberry waffles and as we ate, he and the “two mouths” giggled and teased me about the “garage incident”. He headed back across the yard, and us gals talked and drank coffee till Peenie said our “eyeballs were gonna pop out” if we drank any more. We decided to clean up and take a long walk at Falls Park.

We got our “exercise clothes” on (for Peenie, this constitutes a cashmere cardigan, full make-up, jewelry, support hose, a khaki skort, her tennis shoes, handbag, and of course Orange Flip) and headed downtown. Here’s a picture of the gloriousness that is Falls Park:

The little nut did GREAT walking the bridge and it’s surrounds. Mom and I were so proud of her! We lunched at Coffee Underground, took a tour of Anthropologie where Peenie bought some plaid tights (SO CUTE), and then took her home to get on her jammies. Mom and I then went on a KILLER walk/run. When we came back, Peanut squalled at us for “being gone too long”, but I made Quiche Lorraine for dinner (YUM), and she got happy again real quick. Ate TWO pieces and a cookie! Go, Peanut, go!

All of us went to bed early after a weekend full of food, laughter, and good memories!

I’ll leave you with this:

When we were at Coffee Underground, I asked mom and Peanut to pose for a picture together. But I couldn’t get the little nut to look at the camera! When I asked her to look at me, she said, “Sometimes I don’t like to look at the camera. Kinda scary. So I do a side thing.”

Here she is, doing her “side thing”:
 

 

The House that Paw Built

This is the house that Paw built:

I can’t talk about Peenie for much longer without talking about Paw. I haven’t written about him in these past five entries because…well, it’s hard to. He hasn’t been gone very long, and Peenie and I sometimes forget. We forget because it feels like he’s still with us--there are pieces of his life strewn all about the house. The clothes and shoes in his closet. Shaving cream in the bathroom. His desk. The bench in the backyard where he used to sit and look out over his land. His old tractor. All of his pear and fig trees.

Last night I was in the basement putting on my tennis shoes before my run. As I tied them, I sat at the red picnic table where he read the paper every day. Suddenly conscious of where I was, I paused and began to look around. I saw cans of pear and fig preserves from last year. Old tools. His hats. Some of his shirts still hanging near the wash. But, even further than all of that…the walls, the floors, the design of the house, the brick that he selected…we live in a house that Paw built. It’s like even though he’s gone, he’s still shielding us from the storms.

Paw passed away in July, due to complications from a stroke. Thankfully, the stroke occurred at home on a Sunday morning. He and Peenie had just eaten breakfast together. He was not on his tractor, he was not in his car, he was not out in the yard where she couldn’t get to him. She was right at his side. And they spent his last fully conscious moments together--husband and wife of 69 years. For this, I and my family are so incredibly grateful.

I wish all of you could know what an incredible man my Paw was, but I don’t think I’ll ever have the words to perfectly describe the man I knew. The closest I’ve come to capturing his essence is a poem I wrote for his funeral:

---

A Paw is a wonderful thing.

He is the load-bearer of our animal called family. And with worn, weathered, heart-shaped pads he cushions our steps.

He is our forepaw, the member in front. He goes before us; the first to feel pain or pleasure. He knows what is good and what is not. And so he teaches us to tread on Firm Foundations and Solid Rock, and to avoid the sinking sand.

He is our provider and protector. From him come sharp and fierce claws of purpose. Claws which are forever in use for our survival, our honor, and for the glory of our Creator.

He is our comforter, the one who envelops our troubles with his warm mit of wisdom. With soothing touch, he quiets our minds and points us to the Truth.

He is our feeder. He supplies us with the eternal meat of the Scriptures and encourages us to hunt the knowledge of them so that we may never go hungry.

He is our Paw. He bears the load, teaches us, provides for us, protects us, comforts us, advises us, and feeds us. Our Paw. And he goes before us still. Even now, he has touched down on golden streets where, in just a few short moments, we will join him again.

There, in the place where there are no heavy loads, no pain, no sinking sand, no need for protection, no troubles, and no hunger, we'll be together again in the company of the Greatest of all Paws, the Creator of Paws--the One who blessed us with our Paw. And there, our steps will be cushioned forever.

A Paw is a wonderful thing.

---

I’ll leave you with this, my all-time favorite photo of Peenie and Paw.

Needs no caption.

Oh, FOOT!

Peanut’s favorite expression of frustration is, “Oh, FOOT!”. Quite hilarious and ironic considering all of the problems she has with her feet. Yes, sadly, the little nut has all kinds of podiatry issues—issues that come with the territory of being 92, I guess. And I won’t go into all of the gory details (cause I really don’t want to gross y’all out), but I will say that it’s AMAZING that Peenie scoots around at the rate she does. And so fashionably, to boot (pun intended)!

Peanut wakes up every morning around 5 am. If she sleeps past 5:30 (which she has, a couple of times), she gets really upset with herself for sleeping in (insert, “Oh, FOOT!” here) and feels like half of her day is lost. First thing she does in the morning is go put on her “face” (complete with Orange Flip lipstick), and put her “breakfast outfit” on. Peanut told me last week that when she was a young mother, she decided she’d never be a “housecoat housewife”…cause that’s tacky and “you never get dressed till noon”. Because of this, you’ll never see Peenie in her striped Hannah Anderson long johns at breakfast. Nope, she’s got an outfit ‘specially for breakfast which usually consists of support hose, athletic socks, tennis shoes, a skirt, a turtleneck, her gold jewelry, and a lime green Ralph Lauren track jacket that my mom recently gave her. Orange Flip lipstick and a compact mirror in tow as well, so she can reapply between sips of coffee, of course.

As I’ve said, Peanut likes to eat a large breakfast. She snacks on fruit (strawberries, blueberries and banana slices) and sips her coffee until 6:45, when I wake up. Then we make eggs (preferably poached), APPLEWOOD SMOKED bacon (she will NOT use any other kind, but hey, I’m not complaining), and English muffins. Peanut was originally addicted to the white English muffins, but I’ve since convinced her to switch to whole wheat cause they’re healthier. Win! Between the two of us, we drink an INSANE amount of coffee (8 cups), and it is some GOOD stuff, let-me-tell-you. Peanut can brew a fresh pot better than the best of ‘em. Seriously. If I could, I’d sign her up for a brewing competition and place all of my betting money on her. Part of the reason her coffee is so good might be because it’s Columbian and it’s from The Fresh Market, but I think she’s got some sort of magic secret she’s not telling me. It’s not too weak, not too strong, not to acidic…it’s…Peenie Perfect! I should copyright that.

After breakfast, the round of phone calls from my aunts and uncles begins, and I begin to get ready for work. I keep my bathroom door open, though—so I can listen to her chatter away. Yesterday I stabbed myself in the eyeball with my mascara wand because of something hilarious she said, and for the life of me, I CANNOT remember now what it was. FOOT. See? Now she’s got me saying it. You’re next.

When I leave for work, Peanut goes upstairs and changes into her “going out” outfit--a ruffled skirt, a sweater, a Trina Turk leopard jacket with turquoise lining that my mom also gave her (mom batting 1000% in the jacket category), her patent leather loafers, and her new orange (duh—gotta have something to match that lipstick) Long Champ tote that I convinced her to buy. SO. FREAKING. CUTE. Once she’s stylin’, she gets into her Buick (stay off the roads, Greenville—she still drives) and begins her daily visits. There are different places each day of the week, of course. But two remain consistent: The Fresh Market and Oriental House. Those she goes to almost every day. Typical purchases at The Fresh Market include:

1.       Coffee. Columbian. Grinds it herself.

2.       Walnuts. Eats ‘em like they’re “goin’ outta style”.

3.       Milk. 2%. Only drinks Mayfield.

4.       Flowers for the house and Tom’s office.

After hugs all around to her Fresh Market family, off she goes to Oriental House to see the other members of her fan club. There, she orders an egg roll and vegetable soup. And more coffee, of course. But it better be HOT, or it is sent back to the kitchen!

After her mid-day feast, Peanut reapplies Orange Flip and runs whatever errands might be left. Bank, dry cleaners, trip to see her accountant, more of the fan club, etc. Then she heads home and waits for me! By the time I arrive around 5:30, she’s already in her striped Hannah Anderson long johns (Orange Flip still on) and ready to eat her nightly bowl of cereal (Muesli with walnuts, raisins, and bananas, if you were wondering). We chat about the events of the day until she turns on FOX News and yells at the TV for about 30 minutes. This is HILARIOUS, I can’t even tell you. She gets jacked UP, friends. One of these days, I’ll post a video of her watching the news. Though I might have to edit it. Not that she uses profanity or anything—she’s just a product of her generation and she…stereotypes, to put it nicely. Anyway, after she squalls at O’Reilly and bemoans the state of the Union, she looks at the clock and, “Oh, FOOT! It’s late, Katy! Time for bed!” Then I watch her as she goes up the stairs, step by step. And as waves me goodnight, I turn off the lights.

“Goodnight, Peanut!”

“Goodnight, Katy! See you in the mor-neek!”

…mor-neek (morning) is a Peenie-ism. I’ve got to start a list. 

And that’s the usual daily grind with Peanut, complete with countless exclamations of, “Oh, FOOT!” and at least a tube of Orange Flip.

I’ll leave you with this:

A pic of Peenie in her long johns and track jacket, holding some embarrassing pre-adolescent photos of my brothers, Will and Mitch! Don’t tell on me, though--to Peenie or the boys!

Deaf Peenie, Mute Katy

Though she doesn’t like to admit it, Peanut is nearly deaf. And since she is nearly deaf, she sometimes thinks I am a mute. Because unless I am speaking like a Shakespearean actor on opening night at the Globe, she either misses or misinterprets half of what I say. So, these days I feel like I’m yelling a lot. I imagine my old acting coach saying, “Do not YELL. From the DIAPHRAGM, Katy! Enunciate. And don’t trail off at the end of your sentences!” But that’s kind of hard to do ALL OF THE TIME. So here’s another debate we’ve been having: The Great Hearing Aid Debate. Sure to be many debates this year. We should televise and run a poll to see who gets the popular vote! But alas, I’m sure Peanut would win due to cuteness.

A couple of Saturdays ago, I hopped in the shower after a run. Minutes later, I heard the back doorbell ring. I knew Peanut was in the kitchen, so I figured she’d get it. But after a few more doorbell rings, I got out of the shower, put on a robe, and decided to go answer it myself. As I walked through the family room, Peanut (who was still in the kitchen) asked me what I was doing out of the shower and was I DRIPPING on the FLOOR?! I didn’t answer her, but I did answer the door. It was a nice lady from church bringing the two of us a casserole. Very thoughtful! Peanut came around the corner, mouth dropped open, apologizing to both me and the lady that she didn’t hear the doorbell…cause it’s just too durn quiet. I just looked at her like, “Mmmmhmmmm, sure. Then how did I hear it in the shower?” Sigh. In the words of many a Southern woman before me, “Bless her heart”. Her little deaf heart!

I’ve mentioned the idea of Peenie getting a hearing aid to her a few times. It just isn’t safe for the little nut to be at home alone, unable to hear the doorbell and the phone. The first couple of times, my suggestion was met with sass and something about causing her grave “consternation”. However, I’ve FINALLY gotten her to admit that yes, she is hard of hearing but no, she WILL NOT wear one of those hearing aids because they’re for “old people”.

Yep, you heard her right. Old people.

So, since there’s no way I can convince her that she is, in fact, “old people”, my next strategy of attack will be to see if I can get her to wear a hearing aid ONLY at the house, emphasizing that she does not have to wear it to The Fresh Market or to Oriental House or to Word of Mouth or anywhere else where her admiring public might think that she appears “old”. We’ll see if this plan works.

As far as the Great Kitchen Debate went last night, I made myself roasted rosemary sweet potatoes, garlicky green beans, and lemon chicken. Win!

I'll leave you with this:

Peenie not only pays her hired help what they're owed, she also gifts them with little treats every week. Frida, the housekeeper, is given fresh cinnamon roles and orange juice to take home with her. The yard man, "PeeWee" (no relation), is given lunch money so that he can go get himself some "pickups" to stave his hunger around noontime. I think Peanut's love language is gifting because she gets so much joy from it! But I don't think Frida and PeeWee love the nut for her gifts alone. They've told me they absolutely adore her and would do just about anything for her because they know she cares about them so much. And I can say I know exactly how they feel. Exactly. And I try to tell her that every day.

...I'm just not sure if she hears me.

The Great Kitchen Debate

Peenie does not like for her kitchen to be used after 3:30 pm. I get off work between 5 and 5:30. You do the math.

Yea...

Obviously, since I have to eat and I love to cook, this just ain't gonna fly for the next year. And so begins The Great Kitchen Debate. And after each time we debate that same debate, we agree that I am allowed to cook dinner for myself in the kitchen the next night. But each night when I come home, Peanut, being the sneaky Peanut that she is, has either cooked something or gotten take-out for me. Thus, sneakily (but not too sneakily, cause I know her angle) preventing me from cooking.

Ok, stop. I know what you're thinking. How sweet! Why in the heck is Katy complaining that her precious grandmother provides her with dinner every night? Katy must be crazy. I wish someone would fix dinner for ME every night. And Peenie has to eat, too! After all, Katy says she's only 90 pounds! She could stand to gain a few!

...I get it. And maybe I'm being ungrateful. But let me explain:

Peanut does not eat the average American dinner. Peanut eats a peanut of a dinner. Peanut eats a bowl of cereal for dinner. She follows the "King, Prince, Pauper Diet". She eats like a king at breakfast, a prince at lunch, and a pauper at dinner. I, unfortunately for her, am the exact opposite. I ain't no pauper (though if you knew my salary, you might believe otherwise) and I just can't do a bowl of cereal every night for dinner. Now, am I asking Peenie to cook for me? Absolutely not. Remember--I love to cook, friends! Did I mention I love to cook?! Oh, and being that I have prepared my own meals for a few years now, I'm not quite willing to go back to having them dictated to me. 

You feelin' me?

Anyway, I was not up for the debate last night as Peanut insisted that she was hungry for something other than cereal (totally get that) and wanted to go to K&W. I obliged her. My meal wasn't too bad after I shook a pound of salt over it. Here's what Peanut ordered:

-Baked apples with cinnamon

-4 hushpuppies

-A cup of cooked spinach

-An undressed bed of iceberg lettuce

-A decaf coffee

-A carton of 2% milk

She ate the apples, 2 hushpuppies, and drank the milk. The rest of the food was just for show, I believe. Which got me thinking...hushpuppies, baked apples, and milk...that's basically dessert, right?

Next thing I knew, I'm suddenly all in my head like, "Is Peenie getting proper nutrition? Is she eating too many sweets? What's she gnawing on when I'm at work? Am I a horrible granddaughter for not thinking about this before? What am I going to doooooooooooo?"

My friends that have babies...is this what it's like?

So, The Great Kitchen Debate is now on the back burner (pun intended). Or maybe I should keep it on the front burner. If she'll let me cook, maybe she'll have more healthy options when I'm not at home. Right?

...I am becoming the 25 year-old mother of a 92 year-old. Maybe I should watch Benjamin Button again soon.

I'll leave you with this:

Peanut's found a new nail color just in time for the change of season. It's called "Fall Mood" and Revlon makes it. She gives herself a touch-up before bed every night so it'll look fresh the next day for all of her admirers at The Fresh Market, Oriental House, Word of Mouth, The Palmetto Bank, and Belk. Peenie's a Greenville celebrity!

A Few of Peenie's Favorite Things

Good morning, friends! Thanks so much for all of the positive feedback on the first entry! It's great to have such a supportive community!

But really, let's be real. I know that you all are just curious about the the person that is Peenie. Honestly, had I chosen to write a blog about myself, there just wouldn't have been as much curiosity...or as much to write about! But you know what? I am A-OK with that! If I live to be as old as Peenie (approximately another 67 years), maybe I'll become a legend and one of my grandchildren will write about me for posterity's sake. Hey, it could happen! I got some of those Peenie genes, you know! But until then, this blog will be mostly about the one and only Peenie. Or Peanut, as I've grown accustomed to calling her these days.

For those of you who know Peenie or have met her, I need not explain. For those of you who have not, picture this: a living cartoon character. I know, I know, sounds disrespectful, right? But just ask anyone who knows the Peanut and they'll back me up. While I'm at it, I should really explain the name Peanut. Here are bullets to make it easier:

-She's tiny...like a peanut. Tops out at about 90 pounds. Maybe less.
-She's a nut. Kinda crazy. But not in a bad way...most of the time. In a cute kind of way!
-She is nuts...about nuts. The woman cannot get enough nuts. I swear she's part squirrel.

If that explanation isn't enough for you (and I'll go ahead and say it's not because even if I write on this blog every day for a year, it will still not be enough to explain Peenie), here is a list I've compiled of her favorite things:

1. Getting her hair cut. She goes to see Don every two weeks so that he can color, cut, and style her hair into that infamous shape (one side turned under, one turned out) that no one else could rock but Peenie. Going to Don's is like the quest for the Holy Grail. All things must be put on hold until hair appointment is accomplished.
2. Scalding hot coffee. If it's not boiling, you better just go brew another pot.
3. Ironed top sheets. She makes a bed better than a major general.
4. Animal print. Makes up at least 1/2 her wardrobe.
5. Applewood Smoked Bacon. She may be 90 pounds, but she eats two pieces every morning and will rave about it should you ever ask her what bacon to stock your fridge with.
6. Revlon Lipstick in "Orange Flip". Yes, I know. The name of her chosen shade could not be any more perfect.
7. Polished silver. Always. And God forbid you mix the stainless cutlery in with the silver.
8. Fresh flowers. In her home and at Tom's (my uncle) dental office. Every Tuesday.
9. The Fresh Market, Oriental House, and Rafferty's...without these three establishments, she would "just have no one to visit".
10. Hannah Anderson Long Johns. She wears them every night. My favorite are the red, white and green ones--she looks like a candy cane.
11. Paw.
12. Phone calls in the morning from her children. First, Bruce (3^rd child and a PA that lives in Morganton, NC), at 7:45 on the dot. Second, Susan (my momma, 4^th child—I’ll cover her MUCHLY on the blog, I’m sure) around 8:15, and sometimes, Jayne (the eldest of Peenie’s babes who runs her own nonprofit in Pittsburgh). That leaves Tom (2^nd child and the dentist uncle that lives next door—he’s excused from morning phone calls due to proximity) and Will (endodontist who lives in Spartanburg—but he’s got kids to get to school, so Peanut excuses him, too).

13. Her “grands”! There are 13 of us and she talks about us NON-STOP. Cousins, if you want to know what Peanut thinks about any of your recent decisions, I hear it all now and I’m open to bribery.

14. Half and Half. Pronounced “Haeve and Haeve”. Eggs. Pronounced “A-ggs”. You can take the Peanut out of Kentucky, but you can’t take Kentucky out of the Peanut.

15. Her house. Don’t even think about suggesting the unspeakable. I won’t even speak of it now.

 

…And those are a few of Peenie’s favorite things!

I’ll leave you with this:

This morning, I realized I forgot my travel mug at work. So Peanut handed me a mason jar with a handle. How cute is that?!

Lucifer, Lizzie, and Lib-Anne

My grandmother has three walkers: Lucifer, Lizzie, and Lib-Anne. You can't make this stuff up, folks.

Lucifer (the largest of the three, and my grandfather's before he passed) resides, appropriately, in the basement. Lib-Anne hangs out near the kitchen, ready at a moment's notice for those impromptu trips to The Fresh Market to purchase chicken bouillon. And last but not least, there's Lizzie, who stands at attention in the upstairs bedroom to offer stability during late-night bathroom visits (in case you were wondering, there are four visits...11:30, 1:30, 3:30, and she's up at 5:30 so maybe the last one doesn't really count). Each are members of the house, and each have their own personality. I feel a bit like Belle in the Beast's enchanted castle, sometimes. And no, I'm not implying that Peenie is the Beast. Though she does have her moments. No, what I am saying is that maybe after Peenie goes to bed, if I stay awake long enough, candlesticks and dust cloths will start to dance, I'll befriend an antique chipped teacup, and my mother will speak out to me from old pictures hanging on the wall. I swear I'm not going crazy, friends. I've only been here a month. But if Peenie goes to bed at 8:00, I've got to entertain myself and let my imagination run a little wild. Right? Anyway...

Speaking of wild (how's that for a segue), how crazy is life? I mean, my grandfather (our beloved Paw...I'll definitely post about him later) passed away on July 13. At the time, I was living in Greensboro (which I sometimes affectionately refer to as Greensboring), working at a local nonprofit, applying to grad school, wondering where my life was going and yearning for some sort of adventure. Like, the kind of adventure you write about. Flash forward two months later, and here I am in South Carolina, working for AmeriCorps and caring for my grandmother, Peenie, which is no small feat (let-me-tell-you), and extremely entertaining. Trust me, the material she provides is RICH. Someone (a much better writer than myself) could write a novel, or start a reality television series about Peenie. But rather than wait for her to be "discovered" (I've considered putting her on YouTube), I've decided to blog about this next year. Friends, the stuff that goes on at this house and the things that come out of her mouth are just too hilarious not to share. So tune in to my ramblings if you need a good laugh or if you simply want to follow mine and Peenie's adventures.

I'll leave you with this:

(At the breakfast table)
Peenie: She's about as mean as a (holds up knife and sets it back on table). More coffee, Kate?