Grandma 

Grandma brought 15 cans of prune juice in her carry-on bag. (“No,” said Grandma, correcting me, “it was 6 cans of prune juice and 5 cans of pineapple orange juice.) We checked that bag, after all.

Grandma got to keep her shoes on, but she was still patted down by TSA for having hankies in her pocket.

Grandma wandered off to find a bathroom and I thought, “what if she never comes back and we have to board but I can’t find her?” Her “cellar” phone was in her bag, which was with me. But she came back.

Grandma told me about her friends and her scrabble games and how handsome the flight attendant was. “Something about him attracts him to me,” she said.

Mom and Dad picked us up in Minneapolis, and we went to a hotel for the night. A bag of granola had burst in her suitcase.

“Why did you bring granola?” I asked.

“Because I have my own kind.”

In the morning we all left for the 6 hour drive to Pelkie, Michigan. I was discussing eyebrow trends (I don’t recall why) when Grandma said, “I don’t keep up with the trends, I’m not trying to get a man.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“Who wants to take care of another old man?”

“What if he’s 15 years younger than you, and spry and handsome?”

Grandma launched into a story about a friend of hers who dated a guy, but then broke up with him because she didn’t want to marry again. “She enjoyed his company, though,” she said. “I don’t know why they didn’t just keep doing things together.”

“So you don’t want to marry again, but you might want a boyfriend?”

“Well, yeah,” she said.

Maybe I should recommend I Kissed Dating Goodbye. 

We should reach Pelkie shortly.