Spitball Army

Memories of a deceased mother generate reminiscences from family members with differing takes of a long-held secret.

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Mother is 81 today; her grandson’s 18 Friday. I suggested they swap their nearly identical ages. She liked that idea; he wouldn’t.

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Card is titled: “Patio of Pio Pico Mansion, Whittier, California.”

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We sit in Mom’s open garage on rollators, like old folks. Deaf Guy across the street belches periodically; we laugh, then wait.

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My Dad taught me: The best part of drinking bottled Coke is the tiny cokie particles collected in the bottom, making the last swig the best.

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Wearing my late father’s t-shirt: comfortable, soft, not at all like his sun-leathered skin. His smell has been washed out of it.

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My Gramma used to bathe her poodle in Listerine. #mygrandmaiscool #andeccentric

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Approximate playing time: 79 minutes.

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I don’t think there would be any use going out your way as there isn’t any special attraction out there for me, not since all your time has been taken up by that new Gentleman who comes around your house every day.

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Granny’s kitchen smells of hot, fried bean empanadas. The dominant scent at Gramma’s: the Listerine with which she bathes her dog.

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