Day 58
I have received the first official rejection of my manuscript, and although I was expecting it, I didn't think they'd get to me quite so soon. They were very nice though - wording it as not able to get enthusiastic enough about it - but definitely "a bit previous", as my old Gran used to say.
Do grans still say things like that? Are there any left that wear lumpy cardigans and have helmet-hard perms? Whatever happened to the grans that speak in old saws and proverbs - "see a pin and pick it up", or "n'er cast a clout til May is out" - (that's a coat, by the way, and I still don't).
My Gran was small and round and cuddly, just the way they're supposed to be. When she smiled she twinkled like a pixie. She smelt of Wintergreen, Eau de Cologne, Vicks Vapour Rub and cabbage water (the latter for her main preoccupation, bowel movement), and I absolutely adored her.
She wore so many layers of clothing that dressing her was a military operation. I remember thinking that if she had another heart attack, then the nurses would be in an exhausted heap on the floor by the time someone got the paddles out and yelled "clear"! To which the answer would probably be "no, not quite, we've still got two vests and a petticoat to go".
I don't quite know what she was arming herself against by all these layers, because it clearly wasn't just the cold (which was already barricaded away by the top five). She once went to church and came home distraught, having realised that she'd gone without her knickers on. How would she even know? And what made her think that the God whom she believed was omnipresent, hadn't already seen her in the bath? She had on her long johns but that, she declared, didn't count.
For the time that my Gran lived with us, we had a terrible cat. Although naming pets in our household was a serious and long thought out business - I put less time into naming my children - this cat had never been sociable enough to merit a proper name. He was just the cat, or sometimes fat cat, and he was a viscious brute of an animal that hated the whole world, and people in particular.
I remember once a local farmer coming to our house to speak to my Dad. "Arthur, can I shoot your cat please, only he's been worrying my dogs again?". My Mum screamed a horrified "No!", and my Dad took the poor guy off and showed him his bees (this is not a euphemism, OK?). Anyway, this dreadful animal also adored my Gran (I think it may have been the heady cocktail of smells - pure cat Heaven).
Every afternoon she took a nap and the cat took this as a signal that it was time to show his fealty and love. We always knew when she woke up because of the piercing scream followed by the utterance, "That bloody cat!". This, in turn, was our signal to go in and remove the two headless, bleeding rabbits, or similar offering, from her lap, and appease her with a cup of tea "and a slice", (that's bread and butter, apparently - why do they always talk in code?).
Nowadays, grans look better than they did when they were ten years younger. They can afford better clothes, good haircuts with slick highlights, and pamper packages at the local spa. They start new businesses 'now that the children are gone', and get loans from Dragon's Den to take them global. They do Pilates and run marathons and go back-packing in Nepal or Peru. My Gran wouldn't fit all her undergarments in one backpack, let alone her pills and crochet.
When we read youngsters stories that feature kindly, little old ladies in shawls, with white hair and gappy teeth, I wonder who they think we're talking about, because it certainly doesn't bear any resemblance to their Nanna. That whirlwind of creativity and energy wouldn't ever be someone you could confuse with a wolf with big teeth and ears.
So, I have decided - if I want to get fit and lose weight, and become dynamic and sucessful, then one of my kids is going to have to get sprogging and make me a new-age, 21st century Gran. It's the only way.
P.S. Welcome Matt (geddit?)
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