My dust bunnies are getting out of hand.

What am I?

 "What am I?" I asked my three year old Grandson as he sat and traced my Adventure Time t-shirt with his finger.

"You are Dandy" he said with a huge smile, like I'm insane for asking.

"But I'm your Grandma too." I said to a smiley but confused looking kid.

As a child my "Granny" seemed more Grandmotherly to me.  She had long gray hair, always pulled tight in a bun and wore dresses.  She had a small jar of crayons for the multitude of Grandchildren (somewhere around 80) to use when we visited.  (Not all at once of course).  She made the most amazing twisters (like a donut) that I longed for.  She spoke of Jesus often and with such passion.

My other Grandmother, a French Canadian, went by that name.  At age 90, she and her second husband walked into the house decked out in leather from head to foot.  They had gotten there in a red Volkswagon Beetle that she described as "A sweet little ride."  I associate her with boxed chicken soup and when Grandpa was alive, blood pudding and head cheese.  (He was Scottish).  Grandpa would take me for walks and buy me vanilla ice cream that came in a plastic baseball that I'd eat with a tiny wooden spoon.

Whatever kind of Grandparents we are as long as we show kindness and love and take their side against Mom and Dad on occasion, fond memories will ensue.

Snippets:
So a guy is starving after having a scone, drink, and a scoop of chocolate-orange ice cream at the local Coffee Shop/Ice cream shop. What's a guy to do when he is obviously so under fed. Well, you go scavenging for apples along the bike path. He would have chowed down right there if we hadn't promised him a nice juicy apple pie made with his hastily gathered apples. I believe he was afraid someone else would come along and find his secret treasure source before he had gathered them up entirely. I talked him into an apple crisp instead and he thought that would be fine. Now I will bake it as Grandma's do and perhaps the Good Lord will forgive my little white lie. I have no intention of using those worm infested treasures but have bought some from the store to use instead. If he should find them buried in the garden, which is a favourite digging spot for little people, I will just explain that they were too special to cook and needed to be grown instead.

 I'm baaaaack!  Like a bad penny.  Well, not a Canadian one.  We don't do pennies any more.   Finally figured out how to get back into this blog after long lost passwords and changed email addresses and multiple phone number changes.  I found the one string that was able to unravel the mystery.  Now to communicate pandemic style.  No personal contact.  No touching.  No close talking.  Welcome to my dream world.  I LOVE 2020!