Good Ol’ Rocky Top Part II

So, last Christmas at Mamaw’s, in between cleaning and sneezing, we enjoyed some fun quirks that Mamaw possesses.

One night at dinner, we were all discussing home movies and she brought up how she had a bunch of 8mm film put to video. She said it’s mostly movies of my mom and aunt growing up and that they were really convenient to have in video format now. She kept going on and on about how neat it was and how she watches it all the time. And, how she knows exactly where the tapes are if I wanted to watch them.

Now, I must interject some backstory here. Anyone who knows Mamaw, knows she’s a hoarder and has OCD and has a really hard time finding things because they are all buried under newspapers. You never, EVER ask her to find something for you. She will obsess and spend hours, if not days, looking for it. Then, when the item doesn’t turn up, she apologizes profusely for hours and days, etc. And then, she brings it up the next three times you visit. Even if it is a fork. As you can see, we learned over time to not ask, just look for ourselves and/or squelch the curiosity. Frankly, we just resign ourselves to probably putting our hands on it when we are purging her house after she has gone to the other side. Hate to say it, but that’s the truth.

So, she just kept going on and on about the easily accessible video. So, I STUPIDLY said I would love to see it. I WAS BORED. I WAS NOT IN MY RIGHT MIND. Everyone at the table froze while Mamaw got super-excited to get on the video task. This was approximately at 7:30 pm. At midnight, after she had turned every nightstand and kitchen drawer upside down looking for the now-missing video, I was following her around and begging her to stop looking. Saying it was no big deal, saying it was late – let’s look tomorrow, anything to stop the runaway train that had already left the station. I wandered into the bedroom where hubby just shook his head and said, “Leave her alone, she’ll tire eventually.”

About an hour later, hubby and I woke to a banging sound. He got up to go to the bathroom and at the same time, to nonchalantly check into the banging. Sure enough, there was Mamaw in the kitchen, scissors in the fully open and totally dangerous “K” position, banging away on a giant plastic frog. Yep, a plastic frog.

He asked, “Whatchya doin’ there?”

She said, “I think the batteries are dead and I can’t get the compartment open to change them.”

Hubby took one look and gasped. The battery compartment was at the opposite end of the area at which she was vigorously stabbing. He nicely grabbed it and said, “Here, let me see if I can help.” Also, at the same time, sanely NOT asking her where some fresh batteries might be. He located some quickly and replaced them in the time span of about 17 seconds.

Then he asked, “What does the frog do with batteries?”

She said, “Oh, It’s the cutest thing. You put it on the floor and it has a sensor in it’s mouth so when you walk by it ‘ribbits’ at you.”

After several attempts, the frog would not sense the motion and ribbit. After a few minutes of that, she just sort of shrugged and said, “The darn thing never did work right.”

The next morning, my dad walked into the kitchen and blew about three quadruple bypass staples after seeing a giant plastic frog on the floor where there wasn’t one before. After he recovered, he took a look at it from the electronics degree side of his brain and deemed it dead. Beyond repair and cheap, to boot. Mamaw just sighed and instead of putting it right in the trash, she set it on top of the clothes dryer next to the potato chips, genealogy magazines and Christmas bows.

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