I'm not entirely sure when Lulu began using men's aerosol deodorant for hairspray, but when we noticed and exposed her folly she swore that it had nothing to do with not being able to read the label because she was legally blind. She assured us that this was by choice (she was a terribly liar). She created quite a sporty-fresh hair helmet going forward, just to prove that the normal hairspray that most people used was not the thing for the likes of her. She also occasionally mistook lipliner for eyebrow pencil. Lulu liked to wear hot pink lipliner.
I once had to pick my grandmother up under my arm like a football and run across the parking lot in a CVS parking lot.
She lost most of her hearing about a year and a half before she left us, and could barely see. A presumably homeless man (who I am diagnosing with schizophrenia, without any real qualifications to do so -- other than an amateur interest in psychiatry) was cursing at the passersby. He was really, really unhappy about the impending apocalypse and we were all to blame. My grandmother thought he was addressing her personally, and since she had trouble comprehending why he was standing there at the curb shouting, she walked her little 4'8'' self so close to him that her nose was touching his belly. He looked down on her in red-faced, sweaty fury, and raised an arm up to the sky; poised to do I don't know what. I scooped her up and ran for the car. Good thing she was so tiny.
Lulu had Alzheimer's and occasionally gossiped about me -- to me.
LULU: The nicest girl came by yesterday.
ME: Oh, yeah?
LULU: Yes. She took me to the dollar store.
ME: So about this girl, tell me ... was she pretty?
LULU: She was. She needs to stop wearing those hats, though. They make her look like a man. Like a truck driver.
When my grandmother began losing her hearing she still insisted on using the telephone. I used to walk around the block from my home to call her because I would have to yell so she could hear me.
ME: LULU, DO YOU WANT TO GO OUT TO LUNCH?!?!
LULU: I'm sorry, who is this?
ME: IT'S YOUR GRANDDAUGHTER! DO YOU WANT TO GO TO EL BURRO FOR AN ENCHILADA?!
LULU: I don't think so...
ME: I'M COMING OVER IN AN HOUR, OKAY?!
LULU: I don't think I need any, thank you.
I stopped calling her altogether and decided to just show up at her house, whenever I was able. She was always dressed with full makeup (and hair deodorant) on, ready for adventure. Lulu had horrible arthritis. She could barely turn the knob on her front door, but she would never complain. She wanted to go go go! She loved shopping or eating anywhere.
For years, Lulu and her group of friends would go to lunch at Jack in the Box, and then walk across the street to the Goodwill to sit on a couch inside the store to hang out and chat. It was sort of like an alternate universe, geriatric version of "Friends." Except every episode was about the cost of healthcare and where you could find Fresca on sale that week.
ME: So... You guys just hang out at Goodwill. Do you ever buy anything?
LULU: Only sometimes. They like us, though. They even know all our names.
Eventually, even she didn't know all their names. She would recall with great clarity what her grandparents' farm was like, but couldn't remember if she had eaten breakfast. Whenever we drove through downtown Campbell she would say (sometimes up to a dozen times per trip), "Doesn't this look familiar." I would answer, "Sure." Every single time. She lived there for fifty years so you would hope it looked familiar.
It was sometimes difficult to tell if her behavior was a result of her age or just a result of ... well, being Lulu. When I was in high school a group of friends and I stopped at her house for a quick "Hello," and she answered the door without any pants on. She was wearing a long blouse, but still. She said it was too hot for pants. I never brought friends by unannounced after that.
Lulu loved the holidays and prepared by QVC shopping. We usually got some sort of TV-order duster, cooking accessory, and/or 24-hour lipstick for Christmas -- along with a bunch of other questionable gifts.
One year I opened a beautifully wrapped little box addressed to me, found under her Christmas tree (the tree was decorated only in pink balls and tinsel). It was filled with valuable, antique stamps that would make any serious collector drool. She immediately made me hand them over. She just wanted me to see the stamps, not actually keep them.
Another year her older brother sent money from Ohio so that she could pick out some gifts for the grandchildren from him. My present was a lacy, blue, silk teddy (as in, not a stuffed bear).
I was fourteen.
LULU: That is from Uncle Jack.
ME: Uhm, okay. Ew.
She once gave the lady who worked as the cashier where she bought her incredibly thick eyeglasses a hundred dollar bill so she could buy her children Christmas presents. The woman was newly single and worried about the holidays. Lulu enjoyed helping people in surprising ways. For example: She let me bring an authentic, priceless tintype of General Custer to fourth grade for my assigned sharing day. She would proudly announce that Custer was our cousin to anyone who would listen. It appeared that my announcing by proxy was almost just as good.
One time, just months before she passed away, I picked Lulu up for lunch and she apologized for not having any money. I told her it would be my treat, and grabbed her purse to hand it to her on our way out the door. It was so heavy that I asked if I could look inside. Lining the bottom of the bag was thirty-five thousand dollars. In cash (Actually, it ended up being just over thirty-four thousand, five hundred. But whatever). She was surprised to find it and burst out in the most wonderful, impish giggles. We both ended up literally rolling on the floor with laughter. Sometimes Alzheimer's could be such a party.
She paid for lunch -- and then I took her straight to the bank to deposit the money.
BANK TELLER: Where did all this money come from.
LULU: I own a restaurant.
BANK TELLER: Okay, Ma'am. Here's your deposit slip.
She did own a restaurant. In the 1940's.
Nothing slowed that little lady down. During a shopping trip the heel broke off one of her shoes. Until the last six months of her life (when her doctor prescribed sport slippers) she wore really, really high heels. So she suddenly found herself very uneven. I asked her if she wanted to go home, or take off the shoes, or ...? She decided to pretend that both heels were still there, and did a really sassy kind of Marilyn Monroe saunter around Dollar Tree.
Two days before she died, Lulu asked me to take her to the beauty parlor to have her hair done. She was tired and a little confused, but she did not want to stay home. I showed her a picture of her finished hairdo and she adamantly stated, "That's not me." I assured her that it was most definitely her. She looked at me like she was amused that I was playing this silly trick on her, and then decided she wanted a cheeseburger from McDonald's so off we went. We laughed a lot while she ate, and then I brought her home.
I miss Lulu. I miss being frustrated with her wild ideas and her inappropriate announcements. I miss laughing with her and wondering (a little fearfully) what she'll do next.
Today is her birthday and my gift is to honor her by sharing my favorite memories of our time together. There are so many, but this is a good start.
*I wrote a book based on a trip that Lulu and I took. Most of it is fiction, but the crazy things that the grandmother does and says are almost 100% pure Lulu gold. The book is free for the next few days, in recognition of my grandmother's birthday:
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