Yesterday I visited my 96-year-old grandmother. She never ceases to amaze me. Her memory is at least as sharp as mine, and she's funnier than most stand-up comedians.
My grandmother signs her e-mails "Love, Bubbe". Bubbe, or buby, or bubby, is a Yiddish word that doesn't have an official English spelling. My other grandmother goes by Buby. My mother has an odd habit of spelling it "Bobby". Anyway, I was texting someone that I was visiting Bubbe, and my phone auto-corrected it to "Bubbles".
If you knew my grandmother, you'd understand why this is hilarious. Bubbe is the least ditzy person you can imagine. Sharp as a tack, practical and down-to-earth, she's just not the type of person you would nickname "Bubbles". It's funny like the time I texted that I was on my way to a massage and got auto-corrected to "massacre". Ah, nothing relaxes me at the end of a long day like a good hour-long massacre!
I haven't visited my other grandmother (Buby, or Bobby, as you prefer) in a while, not since my mother told me that they've been having trouble getting her to bathe. Buby/Bobby has three daughters looking in on her almost daily, plus live-in caregivers. She's batty enough to defer basic hygiene, but lucid and eloquent enough to resist all the stratagems everyone is using to try to get her clean. I'm not sure what the next step will be, but I think I'm going to put off seeing her while she's stinky. She's got lots of people paying attention to her.
Bubbe and I had a good time together. I showed her my CNE photos, and then we figured out how to program speed-dial numbers into her new cordless phone. She's good company. I hope she doesn't decide to stop showering anytime soon.