Grandma Garfield Takes a Trip Around the World
My 100th Newsletter Dedicated to a Real Classy Lady
Welcome back to The Real Rachel BS, the newsletter about peculiar things in life, created and produced by me with the help of my much better half, Mat. If you’re a lover of random things, and not so random things, stick around. If you’ve only just met me, subscribe to this newsletter to keep it coming!
Today marks my 100th newsletter tossed out into the universe via The Real Rachel BS. How all those words, sentences and parenthesis fit into this brain of mine, I’ll never know. Much like a convertible sofa from Ikea, my noggin must come fully equipped with extra storage and ample leg room.
I wanted this milestone essay to be a special one, where I could introduce you to a new person, place or thing. I can’t think of a better person for you to meet than my very own mother-in-law. If you don’t already know and love Deb, you really should give her a call and chat it up. But before you do, here is your chance to get the cliff notes from me.
If you heed the lessons from popular culture and the horror stories on the big screen, you’d make a lot of assumptions about the character traits of “the Mother-In-Law”. Protective. Clingy. Pushy. Cringy nicknames like “Monster-in-Law” emerge as the go-to presumption as to what kind of a person your partner’s mom is like. Sometimes, as is the case in every SNL skit in the archives, they’re right. But sometimes, you can be pleasantly surprised.
For me, Deb couldn’t be farther from the erratic monster many people get when they couple up. I say this with absolute honesty by the power vested in me by the state of the obvious. I know some pretty awful mothers in law. Deb sure ain’t one of them.
When I first “came on the scene” as a teenager without a filter or a clue, Deb was the friendliest person in the county. Dare I say she still is? Ready with a smile and a cup of Maxwell House, I was always welcome at her kitchen table to visit, to chat, to talk about everything or nothing at all. Even though she could have had dozens of critiques of me as Mat’s chosen person, she has had zero judgments to proclaim against me. Even that Christmas when I suggested gifting her Gutter Guards, for example. I could see how impressed Deb was with my intuitiveness.
Always at the ready to tell a joke or an embarrassing story, Deb can make you blush off the cuff. In fact, I think she basks in the joy of those moments when she can see you have just picked up what she put down: a regular event when in her company, as anyone can attest. She is loved without the strings and she loves without the strings. That feels a little harder to find out in the world these days. Deb is “radically welcoming” in an environment where terms like that don’t tend to make it into the vernacular. She is deliberate in that regard. Absolutely deliberate.
Like many grandparents in working class families, Deb is an instrumental core within our hive, helping to raise many of her grandkids. I’m pretty sure she knows the names and birthdates of every great-grandkid too. With a family this size, that’s a feat I even have trouble perfecting. [Remember me explaining our family population in my newsletter This is Forty] I’d guess, if you add it all up, she’s inspected more diaper contents and snotty tissues than the likes of Dr. Spock, which makes her a certifiable expert on all things to exude from children. Dr. Deb reporting for duty. She’s known as Gramma, Gram, and Grandma Garfield to our crew. Even though many of them are adults now, none of them have swayed too far from her orb.
She instills a goofy sense of humor in those around her. Not counting the potty mouths, the thick heads and the sharp tongues in the family, which likely were inherited from her too, she happily and intentionally stamped her crest on the fabric of this bloodline. I can see it in the occasional joke my typically quiet guy tosses way out in left field. I can see it in the wacky gestures lobbed back at me by grandkids who have lived with her. I can even see it in Mat’s cousins, leading me to wonder just how far up the family tree this personality type runs. And, can we bottle and sell it to the crotchety segments of the population?
While most people keep their Mother-in-law at a distance, Deb is not only Mat’s mom, she eventually became my co-worker and also my friend. Working the night shift together for years in our factory downtown, we shared many late nights filled with timecards, paint fumes and dirty mouths. Dozens of Relay for Life team events were accomplished together. We’ve made dog biscuits to raise money together. We’ve worked charity garage sales together. We’ve been on the picket line fighting the same boss together. We’ve even been at the statehouse together. If you can say that about your own Mother-in-law, you can count yourself lucky.
Allow me to take you back in time. Deb, do you remember this day, what feels like 100 years ago?
Her level-headed reaction to my news about giving away a kidney was very much expected. In my book, to be published next year, I share her reaction.
“Mat’s mom, Deb, asked good questions, and I navigated through it well with her. She thought it was an awesome thing to do. She was, by nature, a good person to break any news to. Affectionately dubbed “the town listener,” she could handle any news people unleashed on her and she did so with a smile. If I told her I was joining the circus, or running for President, she’d offer up the same encouraging words.”
Deb doesn’t tend to venture too far from the corner pocket of small-town Indiana. Still, she’s never been short on curiosity about what is beyond those borders, with a brand of wonder and acceptance I wish more people had. She always asks good questions. Questions as if she genuinely wants to know. Mat’s regular check-ins over Facetime offer Deb a unique glimpse of the world through the lens of her son. It’s fair to say, thanks to technology, Deb is very well traveled. She’s been to multiple countries, dozens of states, numerous regions and countless cities, all from the comfort of her lounge chair.
When Mat doesn’t have his ears in, I can sometimes hear their conversations, as he plays Tour Guide pointing at all the things he thinks his mom would appreciate seeing.
“Do you have a dog or a cat this time?”
“We have a pet chicken named Vio.”
“Are you in the woods?”
“You see that mountain right past the tree? That’s a volcano.”
“What is that on your plate?”
“This is a Rambutan. Yes, you eat it.”
It amazes me that those two can talk as often as they do, sometimes every day, yet still have something to say. Like, where do all those words come from? How many convertible Ikea sofas do we have in this family?
Last year Deb’s milestone birthday, the big 7-0, was celebrated over crudite, charcuterie and hometown sloppy joes, surrounded by people who love her. She was the belle of the ball that day, not the supporting lead as she has always been.
Deb isn’t one to prioritize being in the limelight. In fact, I think we’re a lot alike in that regard. Perhaps she’s cringing right now reading this essay just as I would at the thought of someone writing a story about me. Well Deb if you’ve chuckled so hard you pee’d a little, you can rest assured: The PureWick™ Flex Female External Catheter features soft, absorbent fabric designed to address user comfort. The multi-layer wick keeps the skin feeling dry.”
Deb, thank you for raising up this man, intentionally for me. And thank you for being a real class act and a beloved friend for all these years. I love you.
What a LOVELY tribute!
I love her too, just from reading this! Well done Rachel! Well done Deb!