Purple Acres

Grandma Taylor was sexy in her seventies.

She was Irish, single, free- spirited and considered hard to catch buy county studs.

Her bright orange hair made her famous in town.

It was her real color and only a handful of men who saved their pennies made her rainy day and were permitted to wander down into that other bright red patch.

I loved her self-assuredness. Never did she doubt her good- looks and knack for survival in a male dominated society.

I lived my childhood walking alongside a woman who had coats thrown down in front of her and doors opened by men who took off their hats in awe.

I absolutely loved it!

I was royalty and learned at four how queens run empires.

She had already married another man following the death of Grandpa George before I was born.

She dumped her second husband when I came along, but kept his last name.

The years before kinder-garden, I waited along a dusty road for her to come home from work each evening.

I stood at the end of our chestnut orchard near the mailbox and waited to hear the sound of her Chrysler. She didn’t like me taking out the mail before she got there. It was almost a sin to open that little tin door and take out the mail and hold it for her.

“Keep your hands out of that box or I’ll kick your ass,” she threatened.

I often did it anyway just to see the day my grandmother would give me a spanking.

That day never came.

Two miles in the distance one could see dusty flying from the dirt road. It was Grandma Staub hauling ass home.

I quickly reached inside and pulled out the mail for her.

It was wonderful seeing her come home to me.

The long tin box with a red flag often was filled with garden catalogues, sweepstakes prizes, speeding tickets and bills. There was tons of mail in that box each day. I learned to read the word ‘Staub’ before the name ‘Taylor’ waiting for the woman who knew many men.

“The mailman gave me a lollipop today.”

“That will rot your teeth.”

“He asked how you are,”

“Tell him none of his damn business if he asks you again.”

“Why?”

“If I ever marry another man he is going to be rich and good looking. Martin is far from that.” She stopped for the mail everyday, picked me up and we drove up a long and winding driveway to her pink trailer.

“I wish your mother and daddy would stop fighting. I don’t want to lose you.”

“You’ll never lose me, Me Me!”

But she did.

“I told your daddy he could have the farm if he would stop drinking. But he couldn’t,” she explained to me years later when I went to visit her in St. Petersburg.

“That’s okay. I’m happy now.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, go ahead live your life.”

“Well, I did meet this nice guy Sam. He’s a millionaire you know.”

I winked at her and told her Sam’s place was a lot more comfortable than her little pink trailer.

“How did you meet him?”

“I was working in my garden and he drove up to buy some apples. I was bent over picking weeds and he saw my big fat ass and fell in love.”

I laughed and urged her to sell that old lonely farm that belonged to George.

“You know, Charlie. Every year when we drive down here we stay at these fancy hotels.”

“Do you take the towels?” I asked.

“No I don’t have to any longer. Sam never wants sex until we stay in those hotels. It’s so funny, his old pecker gets stiff only in a hotel bed.”

“Grandma, I’m only sixteen.”

“It makes me wonder what he did in hotels, years ago.”

“He’s probably into hookers,” I said.

“Watch your mouth young man or I’ll kick your ass! I’m not a hooker.”

“I didn’t mean that, Meme.”

“I know. I know.”