Babcia sang all the time but it was usually in Polish. It was usually Polish hymns. I could understand a little of what she sang, but to get it all I would have to wait to get back to my laptop and perform Google Translator to really know what she was saying. Because of course, I do not have a smart phone. My family decided that maybe Babcia should get a cell phone like a have. A simple flip phone with nothing really smart about it, the cell phone would be used for emergencies.
She was happy that it came in black and would go with anything she wore. We explained how to use the cell phone to Babcia. In fact we even typed up the directions for her, so that her hearing issues and Alzheimer's would not keep her from being able to use the cell phone. My dad went into great detail about the use of this cell phone for emergencies. Emergencies being things like falling, someone breaking into her apartment, and things of this nature.
One evening, Babcia used her new flippable cell phone. She dialed 911 as we had told her to do if she had an emergency. She dialed 911.
"911, what is your emergency?"
Babcia was in a panic. She yelled into the cell phone, "I am out of Polish beer! I am out of Polish beer! There is none in the fridge, none in the freezer, none in the linen closest or the bedroom closet! There is not any in my bathroom either! I am out of Polish beer!"
"Ma'am, do you know that prank phone calls to 911 is punishable by..."
Babcia interupted, "I am out of Polish beer! What kind of civil servant are you? You must be one of those Lebanese Lesbians. Everyone knows that they don't know a good beer if it was forced down their throat during an interrogation. I need my Polish beer NOW!"
Not able to get a word in, the 911 operator sent the Police to arrest Babcia for making a prank phone call. It came over the Police radio. When the police chief heard the last name of the prank caller, he sent out reinforcements to Babcia's apartment. They were going to haul Babcia away for making a prank call but they were worried that she may be on the other side of the door with a gun. The Dolata's were all members of the NRA and were known to be good shots.
The police showed up wearing there bullet proof vests. It was a small town and everybody knew everybody. The police shouted through the door, "Mrs Dolata! Mrs Dolata, it is the police. Can we talk to you outside?"
Babcia yells back through the door, "Do you have my Polish beer?"
"No ma'am, we don't!"
"Then you are not coming in and I am not coming out! I want my Polish beer now!", Babcia insisted.
The local police had noticed that Babcia had not locked her door. Which in this small town, nobody ever locked their doors. But they were surprised somehow by this phenomenon. With their bullet proof vests on they opened the door. Babcia was wearing her polyester vest with the holy cross around her neck and a Colt .45 in her hand. She was loaded and it was not in her adult undergarment. She was carrying and was a good shot. She had after all taught us all well. She aimed the weapon at directly at the police who were standing inside her apartment.
"You can't do this Mrs. Dolata!"
"Oh, yes I can! You will not deny my right to have a Polish beer. Prohibition ended years ago. Now, get me my Polish beer. I can take you out one by one. I know my rights. The 2nd amendment gives me the right to bear arms. See I know my rights."
The police slowly backed out of her apartment one by one. They informed the police chief that Mrs. Dolata needed her Polish beer and she was not backing down. The police chief had been attempting to get a hold of my dad but he was in a dead zone. With no cell phone reception, my dad would have to wait to hear this story. The police chief decided to call the liquor store and see if the attendant could help out. "We need some beer for Lucille Dolata. Can you help us?"
"Oh, I have her Polish beer order ready and waiting for her 17 year-old granddaughter to pick it up for her.
The police chief could not believe it. With no response from him, the liquor store clerk asked, "Are you there? Are you there? Are you still on the phone?"
"Yes, yes I am."
"Will Mrs. Dolata be coming with her granddaughter to pick up her Polish beer or will her 17 year-old granddaughter be coming by herself."
"What do you mean?, asked the Police chief.
"Well, usually they come in together to get Mrs. Dolata's Polish beer. Her granddaughter writes out the check. Mrs. Dolata signs it and then her granddaughter carries the multiple cases out to Mrs. Dolata's car. But if the weather is poor, then just her granddaughter comes in with a signed check by her grandmother. Mrs. Dolata does not like to get wet, you know."
"Well, we can not get a hold of the family so we are sending over some officers in squad car to pick up this Polish beer." It was not until he got off the phone that he realized the liquor store clerk was selling alcohol to a minor."
He went back to Babcia's apartment. She held the two cops at gun point as she thought they were intruders. She was often getting confused and this was one of those times. She was sure they were after her Polish beer that she had run out of. The Police chief enters her apartment and before he could utter one word...
"You got my Polish beer," Babcia yells out. "These guys are trying to rob me of the Polish beer I don't have."
"Why would you send your 17 year-old granddaughter to buy your beer? Don't you know that is illegal?" He asked in a soft gentle voice attempting to calm Babcia down.
"Because she knows what kind of beer I drink and she knows how to write out my check. Now, if I could only teach her how to forge my signature so all I would have to do is stay home, eat, drink, play card, drink and drink she would be my favorite grandchild."
"Where do you this? Right here?", he asked as he maintained his calm and peaceful voice.
"Tak, tak! Yes, yes! Where else would we go to gamble and drink Polish beer?"
"A Native American run casino, perhaps?"
"Oh, no! We Poles can't be seen with Native Americans. We Polish Catholics. We need to be gambling and drinking with other Polish Catholics!" Babcia lost her train of thought. "Have you seen my granddaughter? She comes over everyday to visit me and take me shopping for Polish beer and groceries. Where is she? It is after 5 pm and she usually comes at 11. "
"Eleven at night?," the Police Chief asked.
"Nie, Nie! NO, no!" She starts to go on speaking in Polish. "No, you dumb ass! She comes during her break from school. She is going to be a lawyer when she graduates from college."
I was never going to be a lawyer. I did not have the dedication it would take to accomplish that goal Babcia thinks I have. Babcia went on and on. But then she lost her train of thought again and thought that I was going to be a fantastic professional bookie in Las Vegas, Nevada.
The one day I am too sick to take Babcia shopping for beer and she decides that is an emergency. No charges were filed and as Babcia was brought her cases of Polish beer she laid the gun down. The police grabbed the gun off the kitchen table. Babcia invited them to play cards with her. They refused saying they were busy with more emergencies in the little town. That was bullshit as nothing ever happens in this small town. The day Babcia had was the most excitement the police department had had in a long time. As Babcia drank her Polish beer, she continued to mumble in Polish. "Where is my granddaughter? Where is Theresa?"
Saturday, October 20, 2012
Monday, October 15, 2012
The Wedding Continued
Babcia asked the Lesbian Justice of the Peace, "What are you doing in a Polish Catholic Church if you are Lebanese? You should be in the Lebanese Catholic Church across the street."
Babcia had completely lost her mind. There never was a Lebanese Catholic Church in their Polish community. The only outsider was the one and only non-practicing German Lutheran, but she was married to a Polish Catholic. That made her Polish Catholic through marriage. Everyone talked to her like she was Polish. She only knew one word in Polish, "Tak." Can you image only knowing how to say the word "yes" in a different language? I think that is how they ending up getting married. He asked her to sleep with him and she had no idea what he was saying and yes was the answer. Nine months later they are married because that is what they did back and then they started to mass produce. After awhile, she learned what he was saying. That is when she learned her second word. "Nie", or as we say in English...NO! But I digress!
Babcia was thirsty. After all it had been forty-five minutes since her last beer. The longest she had gone without having a beer in her entire adult life. She started to become cranky. The old Polish woman, Babcia, demanded the lesbian give her beer back to her. She was sure that the Lebanese people were stealing all the Polish Beer because, of course, Lebanese people do not make as high quality beer as the Poles. Fumes started coming out of grandma's nostrils. "Where is my beer, Dammit? I want my Polish beer!"
As we stood on the boardwalk by the sandy Mexican beach, we attempted to calm down Babcia by telling her that we were getting her a beer. My brother, the middle child, brought her a cerveza. She took one drink and spit it into the lesbian's face. "This ain't Polish beer! The Lebanese man is trying to kill me. There is something green in this beer. It looks like a lime. I bet it has rat poison in it. You can't trust those Lebanese!"
With a straight face I said, "Lesbian...Lesbian...Lesbian, Babcia."
"Well, if that is what those Lebanese people want to be called now then fine. I can call them Lesbians." She was livid. "The Lebanese or Lesbian is attempting to kill. Whatever, they want to be called know. I know the truth. I know who they really are. Can't fool me! Damn Lebanese, I mean Lesbians." Babcia threw the glass bottle of cerveza at the Lesbian Justice of the Peace, who was getting to be not so peaceful. Babcia continued ranting on, "Burn in hell! And take your cheap ass beer with you. Trying to poison me. If I die, I'll come back and haunt you and all your Lesbian Lebanese friends till the guys in the white coats come and get you. Fucking Lebanese Lesbians!"
My husband to be became very quickly my ex-husband to be. And the Lesbian not Lebanese Justice of the Peace informed me that I was still going to have to pay her fee and then some for Babcia's little explosiveness and abuse. My eldest brother went to the rental car and got Babcia a Polish beer to calm her nerves. Babcia was very happy and calm as she drank that Polish Beer. She only had three Polish beers left and we were not sure if we would make it back to Wisconsin without further incidents. It would prove to be a long trip home.
Babcia had completely lost her mind. There never was a Lebanese Catholic Church in their Polish community. The only outsider was the one and only non-practicing German Lutheran, but she was married to a Polish Catholic. That made her Polish Catholic through marriage. Everyone talked to her like she was Polish. She only knew one word in Polish, "Tak." Can you image only knowing how to say the word "yes" in a different language? I think that is how they ending up getting married. He asked her to sleep with him and she had no idea what he was saying and yes was the answer. Nine months later they are married because that is what they did back and then they started to mass produce. After awhile, she learned what he was saying. That is when she learned her second word. "Nie", or as we say in English...NO! But I digress!
Babcia was thirsty. After all it had been forty-five minutes since her last beer. The longest she had gone without having a beer in her entire adult life. She started to become cranky. The old Polish woman, Babcia, demanded the lesbian give her beer back to her. She was sure that the Lebanese people were stealing all the Polish Beer because, of course, Lebanese people do not make as high quality beer as the Poles. Fumes started coming out of grandma's nostrils. "Where is my beer, Dammit? I want my Polish beer!"
As we stood on the boardwalk by the sandy Mexican beach, we attempted to calm down Babcia by telling her that we were getting her a beer. My brother, the middle child, brought her a cerveza. She took one drink and spit it into the lesbian's face. "This ain't Polish beer! The Lebanese man is trying to kill me. There is something green in this beer. It looks like a lime. I bet it has rat poison in it. You can't trust those Lebanese!"
With a straight face I said, "Lesbian...Lesbian...Lesbian, Babcia."
"Well, if that is what those Lebanese people want to be called now then fine. I can call them Lesbians." She was livid. "The Lebanese or Lesbian is attempting to kill. Whatever, they want to be called know. I know the truth. I know who they really are. Can't fool me! Damn Lebanese, I mean Lesbians." Babcia threw the glass bottle of cerveza at the Lesbian Justice of the Peace, who was getting to be not so peaceful. Babcia continued ranting on, "Burn in hell! And take your cheap ass beer with you. Trying to poison me. If I die, I'll come back and haunt you and all your Lesbian Lebanese friends till the guys in the white coats come and get you. Fucking Lebanese Lesbians!"
My husband to be became very quickly my ex-husband to be. And the Lesbian not Lebanese Justice of the Peace informed me that I was still going to have to pay her fee and then some for Babcia's little explosiveness and abuse. My eldest brother went to the rental car and got Babcia a Polish beer to calm her nerves. Babcia was very happy and calm as she drank that Polish Beer. She only had three Polish beers left and we were not sure if we would make it back to Wisconsin without further incidents. It would prove to be a long trip home.
Sunday, October 14, 2012
The Sun Goes Down...Wedding Extraganza
As soon as the sun goes, the wedding would begin. The cool breeze lifted up the front of my dress. It is the beginning of hurricane season. I always wanted a beach wedding. I was dressed to the hilt with my nine inch heels on the boardwalk near the beach. I quickly pulled my dress back to proper positioning but the wind begins to be more than a cool breeze. Babcia had never been to a beach wedding before. She weighed eighty-nine pounds and the cool breeze was enough to knock her off her feet. Of course Babcia did not go down alone, as always we were partners in crime. Knocked right to the ground, we laid beside each other. Babcia yells out, "wow, this is quite a party. I am falling down drunk and I haven't even had a beer yet." Everyone laughed, but Babcia was serious.
She got up off her dupa and went to the edge of the beach to wade in the water. Her Alzheimer's was hard a work making her forget that she had a half a case of Polish beer on the ride to the park. Her drunken waddle to the water was like an exquisite dance. She was wading in about an inch of water when the hurricane strength wind knocked her over. She was soaked. She was drunk. Her soaking red dress clung to her like a cellophane candy wrapper. She was know also very pissed. Not because her dressed was soaked but she was pissed that her adult undergarment AKA "Adult Diaper" had soaked up a good portion of salty seawater. She managed to get up with the help of my eldest brother but was having difficulties waddling out of the water. My other brother, who is also older than me, went to help them get out of the wavy seawater. Al was visiting her big time. Alzheimer's, that is. She forgot who these two men that were helping her were. She thought they were so nice that if they ever wanted a grandmother, she would adopt these two fine young men as her own.
Of course, I picked white tuxedo coats with tails for the groom and all the groomsmen. Babcia noticed the white coats. She started to yell at the top of her lungs in Polish, "Don't let the white coats take me. I'm not crazy. I'm just a little intoxicated."
She bopped my eldest brother in the eye. His eye swelled shut very quickly. She was now insanely mad as the white coats were attempting to get her to dry land. The hurricane strength winds picked up again. They all three went down into the salty sea. They attempted several times to get up. They finally got up and it was then that Babcia noticed my eldest brother had a bulge in his pants too. No! He was not happy to see anyone. He just happened to also have urinary incontinence problems like Babcia. He was in his mid-forties, wearing an adult diaper and he was pissed that Babcia pointed this fact out. It was up to my other brother to get the two of them with their loaded diapers out of the water. Some people started to snicker at them. But my brother was loaded not just in his pants. He was carrying a nice colt 45. Everyone knew he was an excellent shot. Of course, Babcia, she had taught him well on the skills of shooting to kill.
He pulled it out. No, not that you pervs! He pulled out his Colt 45. He aimed it at the first person to snicker. My husband to be had never had a gun pointed at his head before. He started to sweat a nervous sweat. Apparently, getting married did not warrant such a nervous sweat, it was the act of a gun to bring him to a high level of dysfunctional nervousness. Babcia had forgotten about the white coats hauling her off. There was going to be a shoot out. She could hardly contain her excitement.
A real western shoot out, she thought. Babcia was so excited she wet herself which of course nobody noticed due to the whole "soaked adult diaper from the ocean extravaganza." She started rambling in Polish. "Back in my day, the man with the biggest gun won. Back in my day they didn't have these strange adult undergarments. You just pissed your pants in fear and the piss ran down your leg. Then you keeled over from a heart attack. Back in my day..." Babcia started to forget what she was talking about. She caught the eye of my husband to be and thought she was at her wedding. She thought she was at the Polish Catholic church of Saint Stanislaw. The wet sand of the beach engulfed her feet and then her thoughts went to the lazy nuns, who apparently, could not keep the dirt out of the church. She lifted her eyes back up and caught my husband to be's eyes again.
She asked the justice of peace why he was not wearing his priestly attire. And of course, the justice of the peace we had chosen was not a male. She was a lesbian and a butch looking lesbian at that. Babcia did not just have Alzheimer's. Oh no, she also had hearing problems.She thought the butch looking justice of the peace said that she was Lebanese.
She got up off her dupa and went to the edge of the beach to wade in the water. Her Alzheimer's was hard a work making her forget that she had a half a case of Polish beer on the ride to the park. Her drunken waddle to the water was like an exquisite dance. She was wading in about an inch of water when the hurricane strength wind knocked her over. She was soaked. She was drunk. Her soaking red dress clung to her like a cellophane candy wrapper. She was know also very pissed. Not because her dressed was soaked but she was pissed that her adult undergarment AKA "Adult Diaper" had soaked up a good portion of salty seawater. She managed to get up with the help of my eldest brother but was having difficulties waddling out of the water. My other brother, who is also older than me, went to help them get out of the wavy seawater. Al was visiting her big time. Alzheimer's, that is. She forgot who these two men that were helping her were. She thought they were so nice that if they ever wanted a grandmother, she would adopt these two fine young men as her own.
Of course, I picked white tuxedo coats with tails for the groom and all the groomsmen. Babcia noticed the white coats. She started to yell at the top of her lungs in Polish, "Don't let the white coats take me. I'm not crazy. I'm just a little intoxicated."
She bopped my eldest brother in the eye. His eye swelled shut very quickly. She was now insanely mad as the white coats were attempting to get her to dry land. The hurricane strength winds picked up again. They all three went down into the salty sea. They attempted several times to get up. They finally got up and it was then that Babcia noticed my eldest brother had a bulge in his pants too. No! He was not happy to see anyone. He just happened to also have urinary incontinence problems like Babcia. He was in his mid-forties, wearing an adult diaper and he was pissed that Babcia pointed this fact out. It was up to my other brother to get the two of them with their loaded diapers out of the water. Some people started to snicker at them. But my brother was loaded not just in his pants. He was carrying a nice colt 45. Everyone knew he was an excellent shot. Of course, Babcia, she had taught him well on the skills of shooting to kill.
He pulled it out. No, not that you pervs! He pulled out his Colt 45. He aimed it at the first person to snicker. My husband to be had never had a gun pointed at his head before. He started to sweat a nervous sweat. Apparently, getting married did not warrant such a nervous sweat, it was the act of a gun to bring him to a high level of dysfunctional nervousness. Babcia had forgotten about the white coats hauling her off. There was going to be a shoot out. She could hardly contain her excitement.
A real western shoot out, she thought. Babcia was so excited she wet herself which of course nobody noticed due to the whole "soaked adult diaper from the ocean extravaganza." She started rambling in Polish. "Back in my day, the man with the biggest gun won. Back in my day they didn't have these strange adult undergarments. You just pissed your pants in fear and the piss ran down your leg. Then you keeled over from a heart attack. Back in my day..." Babcia started to forget what she was talking about. She caught the eye of my husband to be and thought she was at her wedding. She thought she was at the Polish Catholic church of Saint Stanislaw. The wet sand of the beach engulfed her feet and then her thoughts went to the lazy nuns, who apparently, could not keep the dirt out of the church. She lifted her eyes back up and caught my husband to be's eyes again.
She asked the justice of peace why he was not wearing his priestly attire. And of course, the justice of the peace we had chosen was not a male. She was a lesbian and a butch looking lesbian at that. Babcia did not just have Alzheimer's. Oh no, she also had hearing problems.She thought the butch looking justice of the peace said that she was Lebanese.
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