Wacky Wednesday

I feel like I need to introduce you to my dad's family for Wacky Wednesday.

There are SEVEN boys and ONE girl.  Seven.  In a row.  I would attribute this to a combination of isolation in rural New England, cold winters, and being French Catholic.  Frankly, I'm surprised there weren't more or them.

In addition to there being seven of them - they were, shall we say, slightly rowdy out of control for most of their youth.  Now, we all know that these kids were not delivered by the stork or picked from a cabbage patch.

Enter Gramma Growley.  The matriarch of the family.  Yes, that was what we called her, to her face.  She was certainly no Michelle Duggar, but she loved and defended her offspring at any cost.

Facts about Gramma Growley:
*She loved to alternate hits off of her cigarettes and oxygen machine at the same time.
*She threatened to shoot the neighbor's unleashed dog for chasing the horses she had in the pasture.  She meant it.  By the way, she was a really good shot with a .22.
*She had a stash of condiments and sugar packs stolen from fast food joints that filled a garbage bag when she died.
*She was never with out her 'special' orange juice that I never understood why I couldn't have a sip of.
*She referred to one of my cousins as 'The Little Bastard'.  To his face.
*She had a vicious cat named Duchess that would lash out with out any instigation.
*She would frequently look out the window when someone pulled in and holler "Who the f*ck is here?"
*She kept food out in the woodshed in winter (not uncommon during cold New England winters), but would forget how long they had been in there (several winters perhaps?) and feed it to us.
*All holiday candy was purchased on sale after the holiday had passed, then put out the next year for that same holiday.  Halloween was always interesting.  Mom, why is this chocolate so hard?
*She probably could have been on Hoarders

Funny Gramma Growley story:
Disclaimer, my family is not disrespectful, just very comical at any event, including funerals.

Gramma Growley owned a large farm and when she died, we buried her next to my grandfather on top of the hill at the farm.  PS she was creamated.

One of my uncles had a beagle dog, Nicky, that she hated.  So at the burial ceremony, we were all outside (I was six at the time).  Apparantly, the night before, there had been a rather boisterous pre-funeral gathering in which large amounts of alcohol were consumed.  Therefore, the next day, there were several hung over members of the family.

Nicky decided that this would be a perfect time to go exploring in the woods adjacent to the burial site.  In true beagle form, he found some decomposed animal to roll in, then come back to get pets from the mourning funeral goers.  So one of my other hung over uncles, made a decision he would soon regret - he bent down to pet the dog.

Now, for anyone who is reading this who has never smelled or seen a dog that has just rolled in something rotten carcass, it is horrifying.  Blood and guts are usually matted in their fur, as they lick their chops and the smell...well...I really can't put words to it.

My uncle ran to the woods to puke.  My other uncle, who owned Nicky, exclaimed "Jesus, it smells like something died around here!"  Everyone broke out in laughter.  Classy.