Last night, around 10:00, I'd gotten a call from my grandmother, on my mother's side. I guess I'll take a bit of time to talk about her: Foreign Relations with the extended rings of the Harmeyer family tree are always a bit awkward, as my both my grandmothers are named Linda. Furthermore, every male on my mother's side, the "Shannon" side of the family, is named "Charles", with the exception of a few dead people, and one Charles who goes by "Chuck" instead. The family-tree is essentially split into the "Stoner, Hoarder, and Dysfunctional Family" side and the "Insanely Biblical, but Extraordinarily Divided and Dramatic" side.
The "Insanely Biblical, but Extraordinarily Divided and Dramatic" Shannon side is the Linda I'm going to be speaking about.
She's an odd person. She's prone to these outlandish claims, often vividly painted by my father, ranging from Elvis Sightings to Alien Encounters and visits from Sasquatches (Though my Father jokily calls them Samsquanches in homage to his beloved Trailer Park Boys.)
Speckling her pallet most frequently are Conversations with God, visits to Heaven where she reunites with Dead people in "New Jerusalem", and a few other things of a similar vein.
I take these things with a grain of salt, but every now and then, they bestow upon her an uncanny and almost foresight-like correctness with predicting things, so I do not entirely doubt them either.
Once, a very tempting employment offer was made to my mother, though by a rather haphazard and busy Doctor, who wound up drawing the employment offer out over a month with no contact or explanation. My mother recieved a similar offer from a very corporate and far-away place and considered going there instead with the notion that the Doctor who'd offered her employment had simply fallen-through. My grandmother suddenly called and asserted, "I have spoken to God, and he has told me this is not only the correct job for you, but that the Doctor will indeed pull through. Simply give him time. He is busy."
The man called later and apologized before hiring my mother the day before her deadline for work, saying he was extraordinarily backlogged. He is now paying for her education to further her expertise in his company, and my mother enjoys working for him. Uncanny. Just a bit odd.
All the same, there was a time where she had said she'd had a vision where God had appeared before her as a titanic White Drill. Yes, yes, I know. Spiral Power. We evolved, and are no longer the person we were moments before. Gattai. She said she grasped the drill, and it plowed through her kitchen, and that this was her vision of her own death. That God was going to take her away. She promptly closed her bank account, began dividing her possessions, and sinking into this morbid fascination with dying. When she realized she had missed the date she set, she said that the White Drill was simply a "Familiar Spirit" and that it had mislead her.
Her uncanny predictions are speckled with these moments that really make her look like an idiot, though when I think about it, I think she's probably where I get my natural bend toward some of the things that I do.
She was a trouble woman. She was not a good parent, and was a product of Incest, which made her very hard to document on my Family Tree projects and such, when I was in the third grade.
She did the best job as a parent that she could though, and I think her memory paints her as a better parent than she was. She occasionally has these moments where she'll argue with my mother about whether or not she put my mother up for adoption repeatedly, or whether or not they had food or clothes, things my mother vividly recalls being without.
I don't know. She's a very hit-and-miss woman. Brilliant in some ways, worthy of ridicule in others. A martyr in the way she was prepared to give all, but selfish when I hear accounts of her forgoing my mother's food to buy cigarettes.
She's always been in subpar health, but prone to fits of hypochondria as well, where she would paint herself up to be on a deathbed, and then be fine, smoking cigarettes over glasses of cola. Nevertheless, a recent call from the doctor asserted us that, with her reclusive lifestyle and her poor diet, her legs have begun to atrophy, and they need amputation, as the circulation has largely stopped altogether.
She called not a week before telling us that, "The spirits of Death were abound her, and that we must pray for her wellness". Uncanny.
She has a very positive outlook on it, all the same, saying: "There is nothing I can do to breed life back into my legs. I can simply part with them, or brood over it."
That is one of the strongest things I've seen someone say.
I worry, though, because she also said, "Perhaps when God sees how readily I reject my legs, he will heal my other ailments."
I just don't know. I'm worried for her. The people she lives around are manipulative and unsuccessful. I don't know what to do. I can feel that the shark-pool of her immediate family is going to leech her for all they may. I want to protect her somehow.
I should call her.
My entire body hurts - I'm basking in the afterglow of that absurd workout yesterday. My Abs ache. My arms ache. My chest aches. My shoulders ache. My legs are suspiciously okay. I could probably fix that if I wanted to.
Finally, while cooking stuffed peppers, which you may see above, I was listening to Alexander Rybak, and his performance, "Fairytale". It's very catchy, and I can't help but sing it below my breath as I do the laundry.
The peppers are Poblano, and stuffed with Monterey Jack, Rice, and a spoonful of Salsa. Simply open them on one side, keeping the stem, rinse them of seeds. Pack the condiments in, with the cheese on top of everything, and pop it on a grill until the bottom blackens. When the bottom blackens and the cheese has melted, take it off, slice it, and serve it up. Filling, tangy, spicy.
Don't touch your face after removing the peppers' seeds until you're thoroughly certain you've taken every precaution to remove the natural oils from the Poblano off your hands. While it's a mild pepper, oil from any chili touching any delicate place on your face will be as pleasant as a kick to the groin.
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