Look out, here comes Grandma Dinomite

It was one of those things that was so odd, it was funny.

I was driving down the street when a little, old lady in a silver car pulled in front of me and I had to slam on the brakes to avoid some up-close-and-personal interaction with granny.

I managed to slow down and swerve to the point where the collision was avoided. You could say I was a little annoyed at the almost accident, until I noticed it was a kindly, little, old lady behind the wheel.

That changed my attitude rather quickly because who could possibly be mad at granny?

And besides, stuff happens, no one is perfect and I was sure she simply did not see me. No biggie.

I gave granny a little toot on the horn just to let her know I was there and we almost got to exchange phone numbers and insurance information.

This sweet, kindly, granny-looking, little, old lady, peered into her rearview mirror and proceeded to flip me the bird. 

I must admit, that was probably the last thing I expected a little, old lady to do. Shouldn't she be at home baking cookies for the grandchildren, or knitting something instead of making an obscene gesture?

Especially when you consider it was Grandma Dynamite who was at fault in the first place. And this was not a quick flip of the driving finger.

This was a prolonged, hey-butthead-behind-me-I-got-your-granny-greeting-right-here kind of gesture.

It took a couple of seconds before I fully realized what was going on. At first, I thought she was waving to say sorry for almost causing our insurance rates to go up, but most people use all five fingers to do that.

I stared for the duration of the salute and sure enough granny was giving me the what for with a certain finger reserved for non-verbal communication of the unpleasant kind.

So I did what any other driver would do, I got in close, hit her car from behind and spun her into the on-coming lane where she was creamed by a dump truck.

I'm kidding, of course. It was a cement truck.

In reality, all I could do was look on in a mild state of shock. I pulled up beside the car to make sure it really was a granny and not a teen wearing an old-people costume, but sure enough, this was a full-fledged, grandma-type driver.

I tell you, seniors are getting harder and harder to raise these days.

Once the initial surprise wore off, I had to chuckle at granny for not taking any crap from one of those young whippersnappers.

Now, I have never snapped a whipper in my life, but according to Hostile Hilda in the Honda, I was just some punk kid with an attitude. A punk kid who, at the time, was in his mid-30s.

What is the protocol in that situation? I couldn't give her the finger in return. Flipping granny the bird would be too strange and just seemed plain wrong.

Two wrongs do not make a right, no matter how good that second wrong feels.

Eventually, granny went her way and I went mine, both with stories to tell:

• Hers was of some jerk in a little, red car who was harassing her with his horn.
• Mine was of a member of the blue-hair crowd who gave me hope that when I become a senior, I won't have to take any guff from some punk on the street.

Copyright 2017 Darren Handschuh

A sad week, but also an interesting one

I can say one thing about the past week, it has been interesting.
Often, one day blurs into the next as we trudge through our daily routines without giving life and what it has to offer much thought.
You get up, you to to work, you come home, you go to sleep, you get up, you go to work...
It's like being on a treadmill without the benefit of burning calories and losing weight.
Some people live more rambunctious lives where they are always going somewhere and doing something, but for the majority of us, life boils down to routine with the occasional break known as a vacation.
This is where we leave our big home to rent little homes in places we don't live in an effort to put the daily grind on hold for a couple weeks and get refreshed and recharged.
Sometimes we even bring little, portable homes with us to live in as we explore other parts of the world. Other times, we rent those little homes and who doesn't like staying at a hotel where you don't have to make your own bed, tidy up or even cook?
But this past week, the usual murmuring of my weekly routine was thrown into a tailspin by two events: one I had no control over, but the other was by my own hand.
The first was the memorial service for my mother in law. A much-loved member of our family, the service brought siblings, friends and family members from far and wide to pay their respects. My usually quiet home became the gathering point for many of the out-of-towners. It was good to see them and it definitely broke with routine.
The other event that changed my week was my column on depression that was published last Sunday.
The admission I struggle with mental health issues has put me in touch with a lot of people who walk a similar path.
It is a dark path and at times a very dangerous path, but what can be perceived as a lonely, desolate trail winding its way through the dark forest of an unsettled mind, is actually full of people all looking for the same thing: peace and freedom.
Many people relayed stories of their own struggles with depression and a couple even said I may have saved lives by writing what I did. I don't know about that, and never even thought of it in those terms. I just felt the time was right to bring the darkness into the light.
Many called it brave, but to be honest with you I never saw myself as being brave for writing about it.
I just wanted people to know they are not alone in their struggles, that help is available and that the narrow path is actually a six-lane super highway crammed with people walking the same walk.
It is not a case of misery loves company, but strength in numbers.
I have been encouraged, buoyed and, I must admit, a little relived to find so many kindred spirits out there.
It was interesting to hear from friends and co-workers who had no idea of the near incapacitating pain that accompanies me on so many occasions. I guess I really did hide it well.
I wonder how many other people suffer in silence. How many others are out there think they are alone. How any others are sitting silently, isolated by the darkness.
The issues of mental health were brought to the forefront by the suicide of actor Robin Williams earlier this month.
But it won't be long before the fervor calms down as the next topic of the day grabs the public interest and the focus on mental health will fade. But hopefully, out of the tragedy of his death can come the victory of awareness and healing.
Talking about it will break down the stigma surrounding mental health issues, and hopefully it will show people they are not the only ones and help is at hand.

Copywrite 2014 Darren handschuh

Grandma, you are simply the best

It was one of those moments you remember forever.

An instant in time seared into your brain with details as vivid and sharp as they day it happened – and I was only four.

Me, my sisters and a couple of cousins were visiting Grandma one hot summer day and we were playing a game where you could not touch the ground.

It was, of course, molten lava (like all suburban driveways are) so we would jump from the stairs to the hood of Grandma’s 1969 Chevrolet Impala.

There were no concerns about damaging the car. Those old Chevies were so tough you could drive a tank over them and, more than likely, you would damage the tank.

The game was simple: whoever touches the ground is turned into a flaming puddle of goo by the roiling ocean of lava that, although deadly, could not hurt a Chev Impala.

We were playing in the carport because it was pouring rain outside. There was also plenty of thunder and flashes of lightning, but we had bigger concerns. We had to survive the deepest reaches of the lava-filled jungle.

One of us would jump onto the stairs and the rest would follow, we would then jump back onto the car as part of our daring adventure.

In grandma’s backyard was a clothesline. One end was attached the house, the other to a large steel pole at the far end of the yard.

When lightening struck that pole it was the loudest bang I have ever heard in my life. (I still get a little freaked out by loud bangs.)

Grandma was looking out the back window and saw the 1.21-gigawatts of electricity hit the pole.

She watched as a surge of electricity spread out across the lawn in an electric blue colour. She saw it head along the clotheline – straight for the carport.

We heard the bang and saw a flash, but were unharmed because we were all on the car and the rubber tires insulated us from the free-range voltage.

We then screamed at the top of our lungs and made a mad dash for the safety of the house, and more important, the safety of Grandma who we knew was bigger and stronger than whatever it was that caused that bang.

We reached the door the same time grandma did and five scared, crying and very freaked out kids wrapped ourselves around her like we were made of Velcro.

With the right proportion of cookies and hugs, Grandma calmed us all down and we decided to spend the rest of the day in the safety of Grandma’s presence.

My children recently lost some of that safety when their Grandma, my wife’s mother, passed away.

It is a big loss for our family as she was a much-cherished member of our clan.

I poked fun at her on occasion in this very column, but she knew how much I loved her and how important she was to us all.

She was a woman of amazing faith and strong character.

She loved to laugh and had a wonderful sense of humour. I would like to say she lived a life of luxury and privilege, but it was a life of trial and hardship.

From losing her mom when she was nine and being raised in foster care, to struggling with a variety of health challenges, life was not always easy for Kathleen Rose.

She faced more than her share of hardships, but through it all she never lost faith in her God, she never put her own needs before others and she had a heart of gold like few people I have ever met.

It was a sad day when she passed. We walked around in a daze, not wanting to believe what reality was telling us.

Tears came easy those first couple of days, slowly replaced by the constant gnawing of knowing she gone.

I know the pain will subside over time, but I also know there will always be an empty space in our lives.