Faithie is well. Benign. No yucky BC. YAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And now we shop.
Okay, so that's the best news I've heard in a while and I needed some good news. Notice my plucky avatar there to the left? How she's underwater and all? Yep. That's me. Drowning in the work way, not the life-in-peril way, hence the natty suit. My coworker quit-her last day is May 1-but she was off yesterday because she had to take daughter to hospital (daughter is fine, just thought she'd be having a baby yesterday and it turned out not so much) and then today she's taking an exam to get into college, so yay her!! But that does leave me with extra work, which I am currently slacking off in order to post here. But I had to post the good news, right? I did. Okay, the guilt has set in. I'm going to work now.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Monday, April 23, 2007
Hilarity (For Me, Anyway)
So the cast of this show I'm stage-managing, while remarkably talented, lacks commitment. By that I mean some of the cast members (this is an important distinction, not all of them are behaving this way) have things they'd much rather do than rehearse. I have felt that way in the past on some shows, but the primary difference between me and a few of the actors in my show, is that I went and rehearsed anyway. I think most shows are good experiences; some are great; some are awful. But agreeing to be in a show is agreeing to the time commitment required to rehearse and stage the show.
This particular show has NOT had a taxing rehearsal schedule for any of the actors. The rehearsals are set up per each scene and actors not in the scene to be rehearsed are not called. So far, no actor has had to attend a rehearsal more than three times in one week--usually for one hour each day, occasionally a bit more. So really. Not taxing at all. And yet...
One particular actor has decided she'd rather not rehearse tonight. She sent an email to my personal account claiming sickness. I was inclined to be sympathetic at first until the director told me this particular actor is "sick" a lot (at least once every show she's in, and if that's the case, WHY cast her, except that she's tremendously talented, and I just answered my own question) and requested I have her come in and rehearse anyway. So I emailed her rehearsal particulars for tonight to her work address. Her outlook email sent a "read" message and then I received an "automatic out-of-office reply." Except it totally wasn't an automatic out of office reply. It was so ridiculously faked that I can't believe she even bothered. I don't know whether I'm offended that she thinks I'm that stupid or just amused at the pathetic-ness of her attempt. I'm wavering between the two.
The thing is, she also asked to be let out of rehearsal a week ago Sunday so she could spend time with her boyfriend and I totally went to bat for her. Director did NOT want to let her off, but finally relented. So this is just kind of induces a great deal of irritation in a show/rehearsal schedule that has already been irritating enough all on it's own.
I didn't realize how much of stage-managing involved baby-sitting. To all stage managers everywhere, I say YOU FRAKKIN RULE.
This particular show has NOT had a taxing rehearsal schedule for any of the actors. The rehearsals are set up per each scene and actors not in the scene to be rehearsed are not called. So far, no actor has had to attend a rehearsal more than three times in one week--usually for one hour each day, occasionally a bit more. So really. Not taxing at all. And yet...
One particular actor has decided she'd rather not rehearse tonight. She sent an email to my personal account claiming sickness. I was inclined to be sympathetic at first until the director told me this particular actor is "sick" a lot (at least once every show she's in, and if that's the case, WHY cast her, except that she's tremendously talented, and I just answered my own question) and requested I have her come in and rehearse anyway. So I emailed her rehearsal particulars for tonight to her work address. Her outlook email sent a "read" message and then I received an "automatic out-of-office reply." Except it totally wasn't an automatic out of office reply. It was so ridiculously faked that I can't believe she even bothered. I don't know whether I'm offended that she thinks I'm that stupid or just amused at the pathetic-ness of her attempt. I'm wavering between the two.
The thing is, she also asked to be let out of rehearsal a week ago Sunday so she could spend time with her boyfriend and I totally went to bat for her. Director did NOT want to let her off, but finally relented. So this is just kind of induces a great deal of irritation in a show/rehearsal schedule that has already been irritating enough all on it's own.
I didn't realize how much of stage-managing involved baby-sitting. To all stage managers everywhere, I say YOU FRAKKIN RULE.
Friday, April 20, 2007
My Week Or Not
So, it wasn't a great week, actually. I've started to post a few times, but decided not to inflict my negativity and seething anger on the e-world at large. I think that was a wise decision because I'm better now and focused on other things. To wit:
My sister is having a biopsy today. Getting your wallet stolen (which was how my week began) is sort of inconsequential compared to the possibility that my favoritest, most wonderfullest person in my whole world might have the big, yucky BC. Now my gut is positive, no matter the outcome, that she'll ultimately be fine. If cancer, we'll get through it and she'll be a survivor and we celebrate by shopping. If no cancer, we whoop for joy and then celebrate by shopping. Either way we shop together and that sounds pretty fun. But the worrier in me is frightened for her and frankly also pretty damn frightened for me. See, I think everyone has that one friend they can't do without and Faith is mine. When she's down, I'm equally depressed. When she's all happy, well, me too. So, nerves. Just a little nervy today.
Next, I'm happy because Clover sold her first book. I think that's the awesomest thing ever and I'm way excited for her. It reminded me of the day my mom found out she sold her first book. We'd been shopping all day at Trader's Village (North Texas shopping institution). This was before everybody on the entire earth had a cell phone. So when we finally got home around 6:30 or 7:00 p.m., the phone was ringing. Whoever was on the line hung up before we could get there, but no worries, because the phone rang again about 15 minutes later. It was mom's agent, Bart, letting her know that Walker accepted her ms and Mom was now a published mystery author. I'm certain mom's joyful war-cry was heard all over the better part of Fort Worth. That was a good day, one of the best days I think my mom has ever had, and I'm so glad Clover got to have a day like that.
Then there's Momentum. We're working really hard on the Women of Juarez. Right now it's just fragments of thoughts and ideas-the barest whisper of something solid. I've never been a part of creating something like this and it's challenging and interesting, and scary, and wonderful - all pretty much at the same time. Their stories break my heart and a lot of it just makes me wonder how strong I would or could be in the same situation. I take so much in my life for granted and I hate say I'm apathetic, but unlike V and S, I never would have thought of doing something like this. I'm learning a lot from them and learning a lot about myself-some of it, I don't like, but I think recognizing that is a positive sign.
Finally, I'm focused on the play I am stage-managing. The director and cast are all really talented and it is genuinely a really funny show. There have been some bumps along the road, or hiccups, or whatever you want to call them. A couple of actors dropped out because of time commitments and there have been other conflicts, some of which I feel like, while not my fault, I could have said or done something differently that might have helped things a bit. So I feel like I'm a bit ineffective as a stage-manager, but on the other hand, I came into the show after it was cast and after rehearsals had already started, so I hope that gives me a bit of a learning curve.
And that's my week. Or at least the version I feel better about sharing. I hope your week was really good. Hope someone made you laugh and I hope someone made you love, too.
My sister is having a biopsy today. Getting your wallet stolen (which was how my week began) is sort of inconsequential compared to the possibility that my favoritest, most wonderfullest person in my whole world might have the big, yucky BC. Now my gut is positive, no matter the outcome, that she'll ultimately be fine. If cancer, we'll get through it and she'll be a survivor and we celebrate by shopping. If no cancer, we whoop for joy and then celebrate by shopping. Either way we shop together and that sounds pretty fun. But the worrier in me is frightened for her and frankly also pretty damn frightened for me. See, I think everyone has that one friend they can't do without and Faith is mine. When she's down, I'm equally depressed. When she's all happy, well, me too. So, nerves. Just a little nervy today.
Next, I'm happy because Clover sold her first book. I think that's the awesomest thing ever and I'm way excited for her. It reminded me of the day my mom found out she sold her first book. We'd been shopping all day at Trader's Village (North Texas shopping institution). This was before everybody on the entire earth had a cell phone. So when we finally got home around 6:30 or 7:00 p.m., the phone was ringing. Whoever was on the line hung up before we could get there, but no worries, because the phone rang again about 15 minutes later. It was mom's agent, Bart, letting her know that Walker accepted her ms and Mom was now a published mystery author. I'm certain mom's joyful war-cry was heard all over the better part of Fort Worth. That was a good day, one of the best days I think my mom has ever had, and I'm so glad Clover got to have a day like that.
Then there's Momentum. We're working really hard on the Women of Juarez. Right now it's just fragments of thoughts and ideas-the barest whisper of something solid. I've never been a part of creating something like this and it's challenging and interesting, and scary, and wonderful - all pretty much at the same time. Their stories break my heart and a lot of it just makes me wonder how strong I would or could be in the same situation. I take so much in my life for granted and I hate say I'm apathetic, but unlike V and S, I never would have thought of doing something like this. I'm learning a lot from them and learning a lot about myself-some of it, I don't like, but I think recognizing that is a positive sign.
Finally, I'm focused on the play I am stage-managing. The director and cast are all really talented and it is genuinely a really funny show. There have been some bumps along the road, or hiccups, or whatever you want to call them. A couple of actors dropped out because of time commitments and there have been other conflicts, some of which I feel like, while not my fault, I could have said or done something differently that might have helped things a bit. So I feel like I'm a bit ineffective as a stage-manager, but on the other hand, I came into the show after it was cast and after rehearsals had already started, so I hope that gives me a bit of a learning curve.
And that's my week. Or at least the version I feel better about sharing. I hope your week was really good. Hope someone made you laugh and I hope someone made you love, too.
Monday, April 16, 2007
Another 8 Hours Would be Great, Thanks...
I woke up tired this morning. I don't mean that I was still sleepy when I woke up, because that happens all the time to me and most everyone I know. I mean I woke up tired. I woke up feeling like I'd just finished working a full day, including rehearsal and a really good work out. I've had this feeling before, but usually it's because I wasn't able to sleep the night before. But I slept great last night-like a log. Like a hibernating bear. Like before being signed up for that reality show. Kidding. I'm not on a reality show. Sorry, the commercial sort of leaked it's stupid self into my brain. Anyway, I'm tired and there's no good reason for it. I wish you could call into work tired. "I'm sorry, I won't be at work today because I'm sleepy. I'll come in later this afternoon if I feel awake and alert enough." Because that would go over really well. I'm thinking even the super-nice compassionate social workers I work for would have a problem with that. So I'm at work. But I'm tired. And dude, really whiney. Sorry about that.
Friday, April 13, 2007
Yay for Rainy Weather
I'm stage-managing a show for a friend and she just called me and told me to cancel rehearsal for tonight. There were already scheduling conflicts with a couple of our actors, but rainy weather clinched it. The building manager for the location we have been rehearsing in decided to close up tonight because the storms headed our way include baseball sized hail and the possibility of tornadoes. They didn't want any legal liability issues should something happen while we were there, which I totally understand. So rehearsal is cancelled and I have a sudden bonus free night.
My big plan for the evening involves laundry and an early bedtime. I feel really good about that plan.
Hope everyone has a great weekend.
My big plan for the evening involves laundry and an early bedtime. I feel really good about that plan.
Hope everyone has a great weekend.
Saturday, March 31, 2007
Well I'm Screwed
So, I was messing around on Blogthings this morning and I took two quizzes. The first is Which Sign Should I Date?
The second is Which Sign Should I NEVER Date?
I'm screwed.
| Your True Love Is a Virgo |
 Almost perfect and a total perfectionist, your Virgo will do almost anything to please you.Low maintenance and loyal, it's almost too easy to love a Virgo! Why a Virgo will love you: You're totally dependable and discreet. A Virgo knows that you can be trusted.Attractive and a high achiever, a Virgo can appreciate your attention to detail. |
The second is Which Sign Should I NEVER Date?
| Never Date a Virgo |
 Instead try dating: Libra, Leo, Aquarius, or Aries |
What'>http://www.blogthings.com/whatsignshouldntyoudatequiz/">What Sign Shouldn't You Date?
I'm screwed.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
S-Project_Little Red in the Hood
My latest submission to the S-Project. Comments and critique welcome.
Little Red in the Hood
I remember it like it was yesterday even though it was far, far away and a long time ago. Red’s mom used to always send Red on her errands. It would be “Red, go down to the corner store and get me a diet coke” or “Red, pick up the dry cleaning, would you, and make sure that crook, Peterson, didn’t over-charge us again.” That day we were hanging in the back yard shooting the breeze, when her mom opened the back door to holler, “Red, take the leftover lasagna to your gramma’s house and be quick about it because I have a few things I need you to do back home.”
Red didn’t want to go. For starters her gramma was kind of strange. She wore bowling shirts and hung out with a bunch of crazy old ladies—dirty old ladies who liked to talk about sex and stuff. When you’re 13 there is nothing more disgusting than little old sex-obsessed ladies, unless one of them also happens to be your gramma. But besides that Red’s gramma would sometimes go out with this weird guy named Ed. Ed had a ginormous head with a great big wolfish smile. He sort of creeped Red out, even though Red’s mom said he was harmless.
“You be nice to Ed,” she was wont to say. “He’s good to your gramma and he’s a good friend.”
Red looked at her mom and set her jaw stubbornly. She actually looked kind of like her mom when she did that, but I wasn’t going to be the one to say so. “Aw, ma, I don’t wanna go. You go,” cried Red plaintively.
“Don’t take that tone with me, young lady,” replied Red’s mom. “Besides, I can’t go. My soap is on. Dirk is about to pop the question to Adrianna, and I don’t want to miss it.”
Red sighed and gave me a look that plainly expressed her exasperation. “Let’s go,” she said.
“Wait a minute,” her mom yelled. “Don’t forget your coat, it looks like rain.”
Red scowled. She hated that stupid coat with its stupid babyish red hood. “It’s not going to rain, Ma,” she said. “Besides Elizabeth’s ma isn’t making her wear a coat. Why do I have to?”
“Elizabeth’s ma will regret not making her wear a coat when she catches a cold and then dies. You don’t want to die like Elizabeth, do you?” she replied snappishly. And then to me, she said, “You aren’t really going to die, dear. I’m just making a point. Would you like to borrow one of Red’s old coats?”
“No thank you, ma’am,” I replied. Red’s mom looked for a moment as if she was going to force me into a coat, but she merely shrugged her shoulders and handed Red the red monstrosity with the baby hood. Red threw the coat on over her shoulders and raised the hood. “Happy now, ma?” she asked, her voice dripping with disdain.
“Yes, I am,” said Red’s mother, choosing to be oblivious to Red’s waspish reply. “Look sharp. I’ll see you soon.”
Red grumbled the entire walk over to her gramma’s. Now I gotta be honest. Red didn’t have too much to complain about really. I mean, yeah, Red’s mom gave her a lot of chores, but she got a lot of free time still. Plus three squares a day. I’m not saying my mom starved me, because she didn’t at all. What I’m saying is that my mom wasn’t a very good cook. She tried and all, and sometimes, she’d come up with something that was pretty tasty. But usually? Ever had an egg omelet with tofu? Well, if you haven’t, then don’t. That’s all I’m saying. Red’s mom was practically gourmet, and except for her obsession with the soaps and her tendency to dress Red a bit younger than Red would have liked, she was tops as a mom. So the closer we got to Red’s gramma, the more annoyed I got.
“Your mom doesn’t censor what you read,” said Red out of nowhere.
“Yeah, well you don’t read all that much, anyway,” I pointed out.
“So what,” said Red. “It’s the principle of the matter.”
“Okay, fine, you’re censored. But you get gourmet meals all the time. You are so lucky.”
Red scowled at me. “Is that all you ever think about? Food?”
“Have you ever had a tofu omelet?” I asked her, melodramatically.
“Enough about the tofu omelet. I’m sick of hearing about the stupid tofu omelet,” said Red grumpily.
We walked the rest of the way in silence. When we got to Red’s gramma’s house, it was shut up tight.
“Did she go somewhere?” I asked Red. “I thought she was expecting us.”
“I don’t know,” answered Red. “But there’s a key under the concrete statue of the three little pigs, there by the daisy patch. Grab it for me, okay?”
I handed Red the key and she opened the door. “Gramma?” called Red.
No answer.
“C’mon,” said Red, “let’s just leave the lasagna in the fridge and go back home.” Red’s gramma had a nice kitchen. Lots of yellow gingham and a tin full of yummy-smelling cookies.
“Are those snickerdoodles?” I asked Red.
“Geez, eat one and shut up,” said Red handing me a cookie. “Let’s go.”
But just then we heard a peculiar sound coming from the bedroom.
“What is that sound?” Red asked.
I paused for a moment and listened again. “Sounds like someone snoring. Think your gramma is asleep or something?”
“That’s snoring?” asked Red incredulously. “Sounds like a freight train.”
“That’s what my step-dad sounds like when he snores. Seriously, it’s that loud. She’s probably just asleep. We should go.”
“But it’s the middle of the day,” said Red. “Maybe we should check on her.”
“Okay,” I replied. “You go. I’ll wait here.”
“No,” said Red. “You come with me. Please? Pretty-please?”
“Fine,” I said. We made our way down the hallway and to Red’s gramma’s room. Red tentatively opened the door. Red’s gramma was lying in bed completely obscured by all the blankets.
“Gramma? You okay?” asked Red.
“Mm-hm” came a muffled reply.
Red stepped closer to the bed. “You sure? Can I get you anything?”
“Nm-hm” came a muffled reply.
Red hesitated. “Are you sure, gramma? ‘Cause you have to be hot all smothered in that blanket. Let me fluff your pillows for you.”
Red’s gramma snickered funny and then replied in a high-pitched voice, “It’s okay, dear. You go home now.”
But Red had already crossed to the bed and grabbed the pillow at the top of the heap, only to expose Ed and his big wolfish grin. Red shrieked and backed away, still holding the pillow.
“Oh, for crying out loud,” said Gramma, emerging from the blankets. “It’s just Ed. You go home now. Hi, Elizabeth, didn’t know you were there. Go home, the both of you. And don’t tell your ma, okay? She wouldn’t understand.”
We turned on our heels and left as fast as we could. We were halfway home when Red started laughing so hard she had to stop and lean up against a tree.
“Gram and Ed,” she said, wheezing, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Ma is gonna die.”
“Don’t tell her,” I said. “Even dirty old ladies need some privacy every now and again.”
Red considered me for a moment thoughtfully. “Well I have to tell Ma something. She’s gonna ask.”
“Make something up,” I suggested.
And that’s how the fairy tale about Little Red Riding Hood was born. ‘Course nobody mentions how much trouble Red got into for telling the big whopper about her gramma and the wolf. But she kept her Gramma’s secret her whole life.
I remember it like it was yesterday even though it was far, far away and a long time ago. Red’s mom used to always send Red on her errands. It would be “Red, go down to the corner store and get me a diet coke” or “Red, pick up the dry cleaning, would you, and make sure that crook, Peterson, didn’t over-charge us again.” That day we were hanging in the back yard shooting the breeze, when her mom opened the back door to holler, “Red, take the leftover lasagna to your gramma’s house and be quick about it because I have a few things I need you to do back home.”
Red didn’t want to go. For starters her gramma was kind of strange. She wore bowling shirts and hung out with a bunch of crazy old ladies—dirty old ladies who liked to talk about sex and stuff. When you’re 13 there is nothing more disgusting than little old sex-obsessed ladies, unless one of them also happens to be your gramma. But besides that Red’s gramma would sometimes go out with this weird guy named Ed. Ed had a ginormous head with a great big wolfish smile. He sort of creeped Red out, even though Red’s mom said he was harmless.
“You be nice to Ed,” she was wont to say. “He’s good to your gramma and he’s a good friend.”
Red looked at her mom and set her jaw stubbornly. She actually looked kind of like her mom when she did that, but I wasn’t going to be the one to say so. “Aw, ma, I don’t wanna go. You go,” cried Red plaintively.
“Don’t take that tone with me, young lady,” replied Red’s mom. “Besides, I can’t go. My soap is on. Dirk is about to pop the question to Adrianna, and I don’t want to miss it.”
Red sighed and gave me a look that plainly expressed her exasperation. “Let’s go,” she said.
“Wait a minute,” her mom yelled. “Don’t forget your coat, it looks like rain.”
Red scowled. She hated that stupid coat with its stupid babyish red hood. “It’s not going to rain, Ma,” she said. “Besides Elizabeth’s ma isn’t making her wear a coat. Why do I have to?”
“Elizabeth’s ma will regret not making her wear a coat when she catches a cold and then dies. You don’t want to die like Elizabeth, do you?” she replied snappishly. And then to me, she said, “You aren’t really going to die, dear. I’m just making a point. Would you like to borrow one of Red’s old coats?”
“No thank you, ma’am,” I replied. Red’s mom looked for a moment as if she was going to force me into a coat, but she merely shrugged her shoulders and handed Red the red monstrosity with the baby hood. Red threw the coat on over her shoulders and raised the hood. “Happy now, ma?” she asked, her voice dripping with disdain.
“Yes, I am,” said Red’s mother, choosing to be oblivious to Red’s waspish reply. “Look sharp. I’ll see you soon.”
Red grumbled the entire walk over to her gramma’s. Now I gotta be honest. Red didn’t have too much to complain about really. I mean, yeah, Red’s mom gave her a lot of chores, but she got a lot of free time still. Plus three squares a day. I’m not saying my mom starved me, because she didn’t at all. What I’m saying is that my mom wasn’t a very good cook. She tried and all, and sometimes, she’d come up with something that was pretty tasty. But usually? Ever had an egg omelet with tofu? Well, if you haven’t, then don’t. That’s all I’m saying. Red’s mom was practically gourmet, and except for her obsession with the soaps and her tendency to dress Red a bit younger than Red would have liked, she was tops as a mom. So the closer we got to Red’s gramma, the more annoyed I got.
“Your mom doesn’t censor what you read,” said Red out of nowhere.
“Yeah, well you don’t read all that much, anyway,” I pointed out.
“So what,” said Red. “It’s the principle of the matter.”
“Okay, fine, you’re censored. But you get gourmet meals all the time. You are so lucky.”
Red scowled at me. “Is that all you ever think about? Food?”
“Have you ever had a tofu omelet?” I asked her, melodramatically.
“Enough about the tofu omelet. I’m sick of hearing about the stupid tofu omelet,” said Red grumpily.
We walked the rest of the way in silence. When we got to Red’s gramma’s house, it was shut up tight.
“Did she go somewhere?” I asked Red. “I thought she was expecting us.”
“I don’t know,” answered Red. “But there’s a key under the concrete statue of the three little pigs, there by the daisy patch. Grab it for me, okay?”
I handed Red the key and she opened the door. “Gramma?” called Red.
No answer.
“C’mon,” said Red, “let’s just leave the lasagna in the fridge and go back home.” Red’s gramma had a nice kitchen. Lots of yellow gingham and a tin full of yummy-smelling cookies.
“Are those snickerdoodles?” I asked Red.
“Geez, eat one and shut up,” said Red handing me a cookie. “Let’s go.”
But just then we heard a peculiar sound coming from the bedroom.
“What is that sound?” Red asked.
I paused for a moment and listened again. “Sounds like someone snoring. Think your gramma is asleep or something?”
“That’s snoring?” asked Red incredulously. “Sounds like a freight train.”
“That’s what my step-dad sounds like when he snores. Seriously, it’s that loud. She’s probably just asleep. We should go.”
“But it’s the middle of the day,” said Red. “Maybe we should check on her.”
“Okay,” I replied. “You go. I’ll wait here.”
“No,” said Red. “You come with me. Please? Pretty-please?”
“Fine,” I said. We made our way down the hallway and to Red’s gramma’s room. Red tentatively opened the door. Red’s gramma was lying in bed completely obscured by all the blankets.
“Gramma? You okay?” asked Red.
“Mm-hm” came a muffled reply.
Red stepped closer to the bed. “You sure? Can I get you anything?”
“Nm-hm” came a muffled reply.
Red hesitated. “Are you sure, gramma? ‘Cause you have to be hot all smothered in that blanket. Let me fluff your pillows for you.”
Red’s gramma snickered funny and then replied in a high-pitched voice, “It’s okay, dear. You go home now.”
But Red had already crossed to the bed and grabbed the pillow at the top of the heap, only to expose Ed and his big wolfish grin. Red shrieked and backed away, still holding the pillow.
“Oh, for crying out loud,” said Gramma, emerging from the blankets. “It’s just Ed. You go home now. Hi, Elizabeth, didn’t know you were there. Go home, the both of you. And don’t tell your ma, okay? She wouldn’t understand.”
We turned on our heels and left as fast as we could. We were halfway home when Red started laughing so hard she had to stop and lean up against a tree.
“Gram and Ed,” she said, wheezing, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Ma is gonna die.”
“Don’t tell her,” I said. “Even dirty old ladies need some privacy every now and again.”
Red considered me for a moment thoughtfully. “Well I have to tell Ma something. She’s gonna ask.”
“Make something up,” I suggested.
And that’s how the fairy tale about Little Red Riding Hood was born. ‘Course nobody mentions how much trouble Red got into for telling the big whopper about her gramma and the wolf. But she kept her Gramma’s secret her whole life.
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