We Need More Grandma Energy
And, honestly, more sparkly nail polish.
I notice her leggings first.
They are hot red, covered in cartoon candy canes, and would honestly be too much if not for the bright red sparkly fake nails and poof of deeply purple hair. On their own, each element would be garish, but put together like this, it’s a fashion statement and I love it.
She’s turning her electric scooter, start-stop-start, inching her way toward where I’m sitting on the airport floor. Eee, errr, eee, errrr. Based on her outfit alone, I know she'll appreciate a joke.
“Are you going to run me over?” I ask.
She laughs and I notice the huge rings on every finger. A blue crystal glints off of one of them — celestine? Is this person my twin flame?
“Only if you get in the way of that outlet,” she says, pointing at the wall next to me. “I’m all out of juice.”
Little does she know, I’ve been looking for grandma energy everywhere. Less than an hour ago, on my flight into Portland, I glommed onto the older woman sitting next to me; she was reading The Giver and we both agreed the part where Jonas sees red for the first time is some of the most memorable writing ever. We both brought sandwiches to eat on the plane, and when she ordered 8pm coffee, I copied her.
I miss my grandmas! In a way that is actually unfair considering the magnitudes they both contained, I’ve spent most of my life categorizing bits of myself as being passed down from either Marylin, my west coast grandma, or Herminie, my east coast grandma. My love of theatre, travel, reading: Herminie; my love of glamour, people, and California: Marylin. One gave me curiosity, the other gave me faith. They both played piano, they were both kind and independent, and they both loved to laugh — they laughed a lot, it was infectious.
And I look for them everywhere. Especially now.
Which brings me back to a purple-haired woman, bony but not totally frail, plugging in her scooter next to me at the very crowded airport.
She says something about needing her bags and I pop up.
“I’ll go get them, what do they look like?” Surprised and slightly amused, she describes them. I introduce myself and shake her hand — it’s like a kitten paw weighed down by all those rings — and she tells me her name is Pat. In the quiet of my heart, I pledge total allegiance to Pat. I’ll get her bags. I’ll do anything.
Standing at the baggage carousel, I wonder exactly how Pat planned on hoisting her not un-large suitcases off the conveyer belt from her scooter. Maybe she was banking on help the whole time.
When I return with her luggage, Pat is on the phone with a hotel front desk, requesting their shuttle service. We lock eyes and mime something that I’d roughly translate to, “ugh, hotels … when is someone sending a limo for me?” When she gets off the phone, I ask if she wants me to walk with her to the shuttle pick up area, which is two crosswalks away.
“No,” she says, “I can find it, and even if I can’t I’ll just start crying. No one likes seeing an 81-year-old lady cry, you remember that.”
Well if that isn’t the best news I’ve ever heard.
I’ve cried in the airport countless times. One time, a lady hugged me in the bathroom, but other than that, people try to ignore it. Maybe I’m going about it wrong, maybe I need to make more eye contact. Maybe I need an electric scooter and about 40 years.
Pat and I part ways. Her last words to me are, “Remember to cry!” As if I could ever forget.
I stand out in the cold Portland air, wondering why I decided to wear all black to the airport when I could’ve just as easily gone with a more festive ensemble. And when did I stop dyeing my hair crazy colors? And painting my nails with glitter?
Identifying shimmers of my grandmothers in my choices, my style, my passions made them more … real. Solid. Like a pat on the back, like a nod of approval. 2023 was a year of almost the opposite of that. Finding myself in bed at 3pm or selling myself short, realizing with a jolt that I’m not sure where those inclinations come from. Certainly not my beautiful, strong, smart grandmas. Could it be fear? A sadness I’ve let take over?
It doesn’t matter because from now on I’m keeping not one eye, but two, out for grandma energy. I need more reminders of who I am and why. Bright red leggings because I love them, sparkly nails because I love myself.
In the meantime, I hope you find some strong grandma energy for yourself. I’m sending you some right now.
Love Always,
Christina
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I loved this. Here's to Pat!