This morning at breakfast Grandma said, "I'm gonna run up to the store and buy some ice cream." "You've got ice cream in the freezer," I said. "I know, but I want a different kind. I'm just gonna run up to the store." "How are you going to get there?" I asked. "I'll borrow you're car!" she said, which is sort of a joke, because it's her car but I've taken it over. "You can't drive," I said. "Yes, I can! Those people in charge over there told me I could drive to the grocery store!" She vaguely pointed in the direction of the French Prairie when she said this. "We've talked about this, Grandma, and you can't drive anywhere, not any more. Your reaction time is too slow and it's too dangerous. We've talked about this before, and you agreed." "Well, that's true, but I still think I could drive to the store." "You could, but it wouldn't be safe, and we don't want you to take the risk." "Well, I'm not trying to pull one over on you," she said, to which Dad chimed in, "Yeah, and I could tell a tall tale, too!"
After breakfast, she seemed to forget about the ice cream and slept the early afternoon away until people started to show up at 2:00 for the family picnic. She sat in her chair all day while family and friends converged around her, chit chatting, talking about old pictures and the like.
After everyone left, she decided she needed to go to the store for ice cream. NOW. She went into the spare bedroom to get money from her stash. I got her wallet and showed her that there was $18 dollars in it and that was probably enough for ice cream. She agreed. After getting her shoes on she went back to the bedroom and started to put the money envelope into her pants pocket. I reminded her again of the money in her wallet, to which she replied she didn't think that was enough. We added another $20.
On the way to get the ice cream, I asked what flavor she wanted. "I don't know," she said, "I don't remember." "No idea?" I asked. "Nope, I'll know it when I see it," she said. She reminded me where we were going. She also said, "You can come in with me if you want to, but you don't have to. You can wait in the car if you want." I told my 95 year old, shuffle when she walks, dying grandmother that I would be going into the store with her.
At the store, she went directly to the ice cream aisle. She looked at the Umpqua, she looked at the Tillamook, and then she walked further until she was deep into the pizza section. "You've gone past the ice cream, Grandma. You're in the pizza now." She gazed at the pizza boxes. "That's pizza, Grandma, not ice cream. The ice cream's back this way." "Well dammit!" she said with some frustration. "Come back this way and I'll show you where the ice cream starts," I said.
When we got back to the ice cream, she walked passed the Tillamook and passed the Umpqua, her two preferred local brands (local, but with artificial flavor--my concern, not hers) until she came to the Dreyers. She stared into the case. "Do you remember which flavor you wanted?" I asked. "No," she said, "I'm just looking." "Can I get some out of the case for you?" "I guess I'll take a chocolate and a vanilla." "We already have vanilla at home, are you sure you want more?" "Yes," she said, and that's when I noticed it. The sale tags on the Dreyer's ice cream. "Did you want to come and get ice cream because you saw it on sale in the paper?" "Yes," she said, and then it all made sense. The veil was lifted and her somewhat odd behavior explained. Why she couldn't just tell me there was a sale on ice cream I will never understand.
I pointed out that Tillamook was also on sale--the sale sticker was just up too high for her to see it. We put the Dreyer's back and she chose Marionberry Pie and Vanilla.