Nana's Love by Denna Holm (always you kirsty moseley .txt) 📕

It was early on Saturday morning and Stella Bennett was sitting in front of the television watching the end of a Clint Eastwood movie called “Gran Torino.” Even at her age, Stella thought the aging actor a pretty hot looking man. But then again, she still remembered the young Clint, with his six shooters strapped to his hip, riding in on his gray horse to save the day for some beautiful young woman. There’d been plenty of times where she’d wished to exchange places with the actress, kick her out of the barn so she could go in and roll around in the hay with the handsome leading man.

Ahh, the good old days, she thought. But like herself, Clint wasn’t young anymore, and he didn’t often get to catch and keep the hot young actress, but he could still bring a tear to Stella’s eye. She sniffled and took a sip of coffee as Clint gave up his life to save a couple young kids who lived next door, kids he could hardly stand to look at only a few weeks earlier.

I wonder if I could ever do something like that, she thought. Give up my life for someone young and just getting started with theirs. She sniffled again when it came time for Clint's funeral. Pretty deep stuff, she thought, but I’d probably freeze at the last second and never be able to carry through. That’s why this kind of thing only happened in the movies.

“Oh, Stella,” she said, “you old fool. Almost seventy years old and you’re sitting here blubbering like a baby over a sad movie. Get your old butt up off this chair and get moving.”

She was taking her grandson, Joshua, to the Veterans Day Parade today and she still had a lot to do before she could get out of the door. Chugging the last of her now cold coffee, she rocked toward the front of her recliner and slowly pushed to her feet.

“Good Lord,” she said as her aching bones and joints popped and creaked, “I think I have lift off.”

But now the problem was walking. It took at least thirty minutes in the morning to loosen everything up before she had a chance in hell of making it out of the house. The coffee tended to help some, even if only by making her have to walk to the bathroom every five minutes.

Once in the kitchen, she rinsed out her coffee cup and studied the assorted bottles of pain killers and muscle relaxants sitting by the sink. It was tempting to pop a couple of Vicodin so she wouldn’t hurt quite so bad, but her wrinkled and liver-spotted hand reached out to grab the bottle of Naproxen instead.

She tried to twist the cap off, but her hands were stiff and wouldn’t cooperate. Holding the bottle up to the light she adjusted her glasses and tried to read the directions.

“Push down and twist.” Well hell, she thought. I thought that’s what I was doing.

This time she pressed her palm into the lid and turned. “Damn childproof lids.”

The directions on the bottle said to take two tablets every twelve hours. Stella took three.

With her joints still aching and popping, she walked into the bedroom and pulled out a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. It was fairly normal these days to keep her gaze fixed toward the floor as she got dressed in the morning. She didn’t want to risk looking in the mirror and give an old lady a heart attack. Who the hell wanted to see saggy old breasts, or a belly doing its best to drop down and rest on top of her thighs? She didn’t even want to get into the cellulite fighting for rights over those thighs. She wondered what Clint thought about this getting old stuff, wondered if he got as disgusted with his body as she did with hers.

After getting dressed, Stella walked into the bathroom and picked up her toothbrush. Might as well get it over with, she thought, looking up to see short gray hair sticking straight up in the air from sleeping, saggy jowls, and a wattle on her neck. About the only thing still recognizable were her bright green eyes—but even then, she had to ignore the heavy lines around those eyes; laughter lines, her daughter called them. It didn’t really matter how they got there, laughing or from the sun, it was still a regular roadmap on her face, a map leading to nowhere.

For a second, Stella debated whether to wear any makeup or not. A touch of mascara helped a little to brighten her eyes, but pancake or powder tended to get stuck in the cracks, making her look like a melting waxwork by the end of the day. She decided to go all natural today. Wouldn’t want to scare poor Joshua while they were out. It only took a second to wet a comb and run it through her wild hair. Just a touch of color on her lips and she was ready.

Maybe one more trip to the bathroom first, she thought. Wouldn’t want to get caught out on the street with nowhere to go. Joshua wouldn’t be happy if he missed any of the horses going by while she was busy trying to find a toilet. A love of horses was the one thing she really had in common with her grandson. When she’d been Joshua’s age, her family had all called her horsey. Now it was Joshua who was called horsey.

By the time she actually got out to her car, Stella was moving pretty well. It was just first thing in the morning that tended to bother her. She quickly found the right key in the jumbled up mess on her key ring and opened the door to her dark blue Ford Taurus. Might not be the Torino Clint drove around in, but her little Taurus was a pretty fine running automobile. It got the job done anyway, taking Stella to the grocery store and back home again. It was about all she did anymore, unless Joshua needed to be taken somewhere and his mom and dad were both busy.

Stella smiled as she pulled into the drive of her daughter’s house. Joshua and Donna were already standing out in the yard, impatiently waiting—well Joshua was impatient. Donna was busy trying to hold him down to run a comb through his hair. He looked pretty sharp all duded up in his miniature cowboy outfit, washed out blue jeans, a green western shirt with embroidered ponies on the left front shoulder, black cowboy boots, and of course what no real cowboy would be caught dead without, a black cowboy hat, perhaps pushed a tad bit too far back, but Donna had been in a hurry to get the combing done and the hat back into place before her little man started to pitch a fit.

“Nana, Nana,” he called out to Stella when she opened the door to her car. “Can I ride the ‘onies, Nana? Can I, can I? Gonna see the ‘onies, right? Lot’s ‘n lot’s of ‘onies?”

Stella laughed, still remembering when she was Joshua’s age and asking anyone and everyone who had a horse if she could ride it. She knew the only reason Joshua would tolerate moving at a snail’s pace today was that he’d get to see lots and lots of ponies in the parade.

“Thanks, Mom,” Donna said, “for taking him today. John got called in at the last minute and I was already scheduled to work. Josh would’ve been heartbroken not to go.”

“No problem. I’m happy to take him. Maybe we’ll go by the barn afterward and he can plug around on Old Jess.”

Jess was an ancient Quarter Horse gelding that used to be Stella’s barrel racing champion. The two of them had grown old together, Jess just as happy as Stella these days not to go much faster than a slow walk. Perfect for Joshua though. He loved to sit up on that old swayed back and pretend he was chasing down a herd of runaway cattle. It didn’t bother Josh in the slightest when Old Jess had to stop for a bite or two of grass before moving on to the next spot. When her grandson was old enough, Stella planned to get him a much younger pony to learn to ride on. Maybe she’d even get another horse for herself and the two of them could ride in the parades together. It was something for her to look forward to.

Joshua chattered non stop all the way uptown, not slowing down for a second as Stella hunted for a place to park. She heard all about the finger painting at preschool last week, as well as all the juicy details about his mom and dad’s last argument. She had to cover her mouth to keep herself from smiling, knowing Donna would have been mortified to have all her dirty laundry hung outside for everyone to see. When she knew for certain she could hold a straight face, she turned to Joshua.

“Umm, sweetie, maybe you shouldn’t tell anyone else but Nana about Mommy and Daddy’s argument, okay? It’ll be our own special secret, what do you say?”

His bright blue eyes widened as he looked over from his car seat. “Okay, Nana.” He looked out the window. “Are we almos’ there yet? Are we? I wanna see the ‘onies.”

“Yep,” she answered, amazed how fast a three-year-old could switch gears. “Let Nana get the car parked first, okay? We might have to walk a ways. Probably should have started out a little earlier. You up for a little walk, partner?”

“Yeah, yeah! Can we ride the ‘onies when we get there? Can we, can we?”

“Maybe later. I thought we’d have some lunch after the parade and then go ride Old