We recently moved into a home in a nice, old neighborhood.  Now when I say old, I’m talking about the neighbors.  My husband and I, while technically middle agedish,(although I prefer to think fifty is middle-aged), are a good two generations younger than a bunch of our neighbors.  On either side of us are lovely couples well into their eighties.  They are very nice and definitely more active than I remember my eighty-year old grandmother being.

I group grandparents in three categories, and if this makes me Empress Obvious, I apologize.  First you have your “I’ll never be too old!” grandparents, who still have hobbies they do all the time, go out and have fun, drive around, go out to eat, while in their seventies decide to take up mountain climbing, still have most of their teeth, and are healthier than you, with your beer and candy gut, barely able to get out of the car without groaning, will ever be.

The second category is pretty broad but it’s the “I can do some things, I wish I could do more” grandparents.  These are the ones that get around pretty well, they still want to maintain a sense of their more active days, pre-walker, cane, whatever.  This is definitely my Grandmother.  While she needs a few pumps of the old knees to get her out of a chair, and she does so with a really loud (giggleworthy) groan,  she still does it.  She has a fancy chair, a pretty cane, and she gets around pretty well.  They still want to hang out with kids and grandkids and they usually have cookies.

The third category is the “Go away, I’m watching my stories!” grandma. You don’t know her really well, but you do know what time the Bold & the Beautiful is on, and as God Almighty is her witness, you better not talk until commercials.

I know there are a ton of other subcategories, but until I write my thesis on it, I’ll keep them to myself.

My neighbor lady is a combo of Category 1 and 2.  She walks around all over the place and often in my backyard.  We have a ton of flower beds we inherited from the extremely old people who lived here before us (you can imagine what we’re dealing with in the wallpaper department here), and she likes our flowers.  If she ever sees us, she runs into her house and brings out cookies.

I’m usually with my kids and she will ask: “Who likes cookies?” and like a five-year old, my hand shoots up on its own.  Complete loss of control.  Next thing I know, cookies in my face.  Different kind, every time. I’m serious, she always has cookies.  How is this possible?

I really like her, so it was strange when I was walking by her house the other day and I heard a really weird humming noise coming from the basement.  When I went to look, I heard a cracking sound, like a whip, and the humming stopped.  When I walked away I heard it again.  So weird.  This went on for three days.  One time it sounded like crying.  Her windows are blackened so it is impossible to see through.  Finally, I went to the door to ask her about it, and she denied anything was going on and gave me more cookies.

Mmmmmm, cookies.  Last night I heard the humming and crying again and decided I was going to figure this out, so I broke the glass, and I couldn’t believe my eyes.  I KNEW it:

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