GRANDMOTHER MUNCH

Steve had to leave the house before five this morning. So there was no time for me to do the "I", dance. Both dogs went out and in, So sweetly as if I make up all the terror stories to him daily about "I"s actions. We had another bad plumbing day again yesterday. I want to yell out to the empty space,"Enough bad Karma already. Please let up." We shall see if the Karma Gods have one ounce of pity in their bodies or whatever they have,

I did some thinking yesterday in between trying to hide from Steve. When I tell you he was unhappy we are only touching the tip of the iceberg. I wrote yesterday 0n fighting the good fight on not getting old to the very last breath. My niece commented that same went for her, Of course she is much younger than me and her daily fight is not the war I have to fight everyday, Words along these lines always bring to mind my Grandmother Munch. My Dad was one of nine children. The shortest of seven brothers and he was six feet tall. So my grandmother gave birth to big strapping boys. Also two girls. When her youngest was in his teens, Grandfather Munch left her for another woman. I do not believe my Dad ever totally forgave him. His loyalty laid with his mother.

But growing up Grandmother Munch came to visit every year for a few days. She visited all her children, She never stayed long, just to see us, see how we were growing. The one picture I have in my mind when Grandmother stepped off the bus was the way she looked. This was back in the forties where you only saw pantsuits on ladies in the movies. But she would come down the steps. We kids riddled with excitement. She always wore a Pantsuit to travel in. Not raggedy blue jeans of today., A matching suit, shoes, heels, in the same color. Her haired piled up on top of her head in small tight curls, her face made up in perfection, right down to two small dabs of rouge on either cheek. Red lipstick. Earrings in her ears and a matching necklace around the neck. People saw a fashionable lady. I loved makeup from that day forward.

She was barely 5'ft. Weighed about 100 pounds, Mother told two things on Grandmother Munch, she had fine thin hair, that she pined curled every night of her life since teens.Thanks grandma for the disaster hair I received from you. She also had a washboard flat stomach after nine kids. Mom said she told her she pulled in her stomach muscles everyday to the count of 100. I try but after about twenty my stomach hurts. I try to fight the good fight but somehow always fall short.

I never met my grandfather Munch. He came through Joplin once when I was about four. He wanted to bring in the woman he had left my grandmother for to meet Mom and us kids. Dad refused. They say he went out to the car and met the woman and visited a few minutes but would not let her in our house and around us kids. My Dad was a black and white man. I think he believed that was a slap in his mothers face. So it didn't happen.

From stories I heard from my Uncle Bobby a few years ago. Grandfather was the son of a wealthy banker, there in Pratt. Maybe his son was just sort of never do well. But he bought him a farm when he married my grandmother. Uncle Bobby said he hated it. And over the years the big fancy house just fell in around their ears and then he just rode off into the sunset. Leaving Grandmother Munch to cope with nine children. But she never let her appearance go. When she died at eighty-eight, she still rolled her hair every night, still wore her makeup.

So Lori its okay to fight the good fight. We have it in the blood.