Grandma Report

Grandma didn't find her shoes. Thankfully, we didn't spend much time looking for them. See, it turns out that her Dial A Ride driver wears these certain shoes, and they are all black. The poor salesman at Big 5 couldn't find a shoe to match the description, "All black, and the brand might start with an 'A'." After that complete failure, Grandma just decided she would ask her driver for the exact make of the shoe and the place of purchase. The only trouble is that she's not exactly sure when she will see that driver again, so she might just call up the Dial A Ride operator and ask her if she knows what type of shoes a certain driver takes.

As ridiculous as that sounds, it just might work. And she just might do it. Also, I would like to mention that I'm not sure if it is Dial A Ride, or Ride On, as her preferred transit service, as she uses the names interchangeably.

As we know, I've been out of the Grandma transit service for a while. So naturally, I'm rusty. At the first stop on our trip I pulled up to the curb instead of a parking space as directed. Well, the curb also means gutter, so I got as close to the curb as possible so Grandma wouldn't have to deal with the potential dangers of the gutter and the step up the curb. I parked, jumped out, opened Gma's door, and offered my hand. She gave it a try but couldn't get up. It was too low. She instructed me that I should move the car away from the curb. I did this, (although a little too far away from the curb) and she successfully got out of the car.

On the way back to the car, Gma hesitated at the curb. I thought it was too much of a step down and tried to offer some assistance. She was looking at a few leaves and some sand that was in the gutter and said she didn't want to walk through that muck. Interestingly, she walked through it when we were leaving the car, but I guess entering the car is another story. So, Gma walked about a yard along the sidewalk, to a less mucky area and waited there for me to move the car, jump out, and help her down the curb and into the car.

It's simply rationally irrational, and it's a delight to be home. Merry Christmas!