It Runs In The Family

When I was in secondary school, my maternal grandparents were in town frequently. Sometimes business, sometimes for alumni events, sometimes "just" to visit us. Regardless of why they were in town, my grandmother, Mama Bear, always made sure there was plenty of time with us. As adult, I realize I have no idea how old she was. 60s? 70s? I know it's a hell of a lot younger from my perspective now than it was then. 

Anyway, I remember one trip when I was in middle school, she decided she wanted to take Crow and me for lunch. We had no idea where we should go with our grandmother for lunch. Somehow or other, and I truly don't remember how, it might've been her, the idea of pizza was floated. And oh good lord, she was up for it. At which point, I proclaimed her to be "a cool old broad."

The lunch date came and we headed out. My parents asked where we were going and I (or perhaps Crow, one of us) said "Pizza Inn." My grandmother never missed a beat, but looked up the stairs and said "Yeah, I'm a cool old broad." As it turns out, my mother wasn't the least bit surprised and already knew her stepmother to be a cool old broad. For me, though, it was delightful enough that I remember it some 30 years later.

Last night was Saturday night. In New Orleans. My 70 year old mother looks at me and says "I think I should at least see Bourbon Street on a Saturday night."

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Well, okay then. 

Yeah, it runs in the family.

Complete with beads tossed from a balcony

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.