Interlude

My Great Grandma Coia was always up to something. One overcast Sunday morning she was walking to church in her hometown of Bloomington, Indiana. She had on a freshly ironed, red print dress, her best shoes, and a red hat. She was using an umbrella as a walking stick. As a devout Catholic, Grandma Coia rarely missed Mass. My parents were accompanying her as guests at her church that day so they walked with her and witnessed what happened.

The elastic broke on Grandma's bloomers and they fell down around her ankles. Grandma immediately kicked the bloomers high into the air, opened her umbrella, and caught the flying pants. She clicked the umbrella shut and kept right on walking.

Interlude

More on Grandma Coia. She was a short, dark-haired, black-eyed Italian woman with a hooked Roman nose. I barely knew her as she died when I was five years old, but I recall that nose and her shrieking foreign voice calling to me, "Come-a to Grrrandma Coia!" I would run and hide. I thought she was a witch. Too bad I wasn't older and could have gotten truly to know her.

In 1951 she was living with her son Victor and his wife Myrtle, my grandparents. They decided they'd had enough of Grandma in the same house with them. I can't say I blame them. Who wants your mother/mother in law right there in the house all the time? In 1952 my grandparents remodeled their house, giving Grandma quarters next door to them in a newly created apartment. My folks visited Grandma just after she had been given her own place next door. You'd think they'd sent her to Siberia. Grandma was crying. "My son and Myrtle, they-a throw me out of their house," she sniffed. "They-a send me away over here." She wiped her eyes. Just then the upstairs toilet flushed next door. Grandma burst into a fresh flood of tears and wailed, "And they even shit on my head!"

Interlude

Had a death in the family so was gone to Indiana this week then on to Austin to take care of personal business. I stayed over one night in Corpus Christi at the airport TraveLodge to work on my next sermon. It was a pleasant surprise. The reviews weren't great and it's true the place had seen better days in the 1950s and was somewhat dirty. But I expected that. The Corpus Christi International Airport is such a rockin' place that the TraveLodge Corpus Christi address is "Corn Products Road". Nearby streets are Wheatfield Way and Cow Pattie Cove. Not really but they should have been. I fished a Band Aid and birdfeathers out of the swimming pool before I jumped in but the pool was fine otherwise. And I had the most stunning view that I've ever had of an oil refinery.

It reminded me of my Italian Great Grandma Coia, 1870-1965, who used to make surprise visits to my newly married parents in Indiana years ago. Grandma didn't always tell them she was coming. She'd just show up. She did that once while they were out of town and they were off at their summer cottage on Lake Michigan. Being Josephine Coia, never embarrassed by anything and game for anything, she introduced herself to the neighbors next door. They liked her so much they invited her to stay with them until my parents got back. When my mother and father returned, there was Grandma emerging from the neighbors' home after a two-day visit. Grandma, who spoke little English, waved at them and said, "I thank-a you for having me stay." Then she went into my parents' home with them, made a face, and declared, "I never-a staying with those-a people again. House too dirty."

Bracing Myself for...

I'm going to visit a wild old man in a nursing home next week. He likes to wander over to the women's nursing home wing, wander up and down the halls, and lie down on their beds. I don't know whether the women are there or not when he does this. I've also been warned to keep a safe distance from him as he may hold onto me and not let go. He's 101 years old but his strength isn't.