Grandma Henke

      We stopped at Pizza Factory today on Sunset to get “cheesy bread” to go.   We thought it would be quick … but while Lynn was inside waiting 15 minutes for our order I got a little board and the only thing to play with was my camera.    There was plenty to look at as I sat in the shotgun seat of the Maxima but not much I could take pictures of.    There were some interesting people going in and out of the Pizza Factory but I was too chicken to take their pictures.      They tended to look as happy going in as coming out, so I can only presume their expectations were met.   I love people watching and one thing I was reminded of today was that in small town U.S.A. you are bound to stop and talk to two or three different people you know just walking through a parking lot.    We in Utah seem to treat all friends as if they were long lost relatives we hadn’t seen in years … at least one would assume that from the hugs and smiles that took place.

      So I looked around for something I could shoot and there it was, my left hand.   It’s not the hand of a young chick anymore as you can tell by the wrinkles and wear.   Most of my grandchildren have at one time or another had fun playing with the wrinkles and veins, pushing them back and forth or into piles, or pulling them up into a little mound of wrinkled flesh.    The thing is, I can remember doing that to my grandmother’s hands and thinking how amazing it was that their skin moved around like it did, and stayed where I put it.   I thought a picture of my hand for posterity was a good idea on a warm, sunny day in February.      At least three of my children have commented about my age according to this hand … one saying, “Grandma, it’s too bad you won’t be alive to go to my wedding”.    (I have a lot of faith that I will be, by the way.)    The next thing I noticed that wouldn’t smack me if I shot it was my purse that was resting unnoticed on the floor at my feet.    It’s not a fancy purse by any means but takes good care of my camera, my Kleenex, my wallet, and my comb.    It is a good purse for a grandma as there is a little zipper pouch that is perfect for stashing little bits of wrapped candy.  You never know when you might need a peppermint or butterscotch candy. 

          My next target was the keys Lynn left dangling in the ignition … waiting patiently as they have done countless times when they have been misplaced.    Note the little pill container.   Inside that little container are my extra strength, fast acting Tylenol.     Unfortunately, we discovered later that the Tylenol had escaped somewhere along our route today; hopefully not somewhere that would cause harm to anyone.    Little green pill container will have to go, I’m afraid.

The cheesy, garlic bread was good and worth the wait.     We were so hungry we sat right there in the parking lot and devoured it … only stopping to remark now and then we’d forgotten how good it actually was.      The last shot here was on our way out of the parking lot … kitty corner across the street to the spot where my nephew, Brett, used to work.    No, he didn’t work at Walgreen’s.   The building that used to be there was first “Lewis Meat Packing Company, and when Brett worked there it was “LearnKey” … a computer, nerdy sort of place.    I threw this picture in just for him because the old building was bulldozed and leveled out and replaced by this brand new pharmacy.     There’s not the least bit of evidence it has ever been anything else.     Isn’t that how life goes?     Out with the old, in with the new?   It used to be just another saying but now I am becoming “the old”  and it holds new meaning.   

And that’s about it … wrinkled hands, a black leather purse, a patient set of keys, and a new Walgreen’s … That’s what happens when you find yourself sitting alone in a nice warm car with nothing to read.

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