Grandma -5minutefreewrite (x3)

For https://steemit.com/weekendfreewrite/@mariannewest/weekend-freewrite-2-3-2018-part-1-the-first-sentence

My grandfather lied to my grandmother. I guess it runs in the family.
Many things run in the family, hair color, eye color, a propensity for scratching records, a love of cats.... lying.

My grandfather thought it would be "neat" if my grandma believed he was wealthy enough to support them after his passing. He hid their finances, and borrowed until his death. He died just at the right moment to not have to deal with the repercussions, and to saddle my grandma with impossibly knotted finances.

So she called me. I'm a tax preparer. Not really an accountant, but I know enough to get in trouble. I didn't have a real solution for her. He house was underwater, her bills were more than their social security. So, we ignored the bills, and she moved secretly into my place. We just let it all go. We had to. We pretended not to see the house mail stack up. I live just down the street, but the bill collectors didn't need to know that. Maybe they would think she had passed away, we whispered to each other. I'm not independently wealthy, but I was keeping my head above water.

Grandma didn't want to be the burden on me that grandpa was on her, though.

SO she got a part time job. I want to say "as a costco greeter" but we both know that isn't true.

Margaret had this habit of spitting. It began to get on my nerves.
Margaret is what I started calling my Grandma after she fell in with the wrong crowd. Truth be told, it was more affectation than habit. She knew what she was doing. She had started by just hanging around the minor league baseball games, being all the players' grandma, getting in good with the forgotten players that she thought, you know, in another world would have played in the majors. They started inviting her out with them, and she started to pick up their attitudes. They thought they were the kings of Toledo, and they could do anything, be anything. And she started dealing for them. First, just regular chocolate chip cookies...
No, there's a better angle. But something subtle. It's ... OH! her prescriptions. They were a curious lot, these baseball players they would try anything, even heart medicine. SO she started hustling. She started paying for my take out. It was a curious few weeks before I uncovered the truth... I wondered if there was something to what my grandpa had said, that he really had provided for her, and she was holding out, because she didn't want it seized by bill collectors, like, that he'd had a stockpile of silver coins or something, but no.

The day her mother slapped her face, was a story she got lots of attention for from the baseball buddies. There were a few women on the team, who just loved to hear her tak about how she stood up to them, in between bong hits, presumably, since she'd gotten a prescription for cannabis when she asked. "What's an 87 year old going to do that's naughty" asked none of her doctors. She was dealing. The doctors were cool. They didn't rat her out to bill collectors, and Medicare was taking care of THEIR fees. It was just a matter of distracting.

That this that this thathis that this .

There was someone ono oneone There's no train of thought left. What a silly Grandma she is. I guess I just have to live with a Grandma who is a drug dealer, who has a bad attitude, and who is unwilling to abide by my rules about my abhorence of spitting.

I hate spitting, I really do. But she's my grandma, and she still isn't making enough to pay the bill collectors. I know, you;d think running drugs to minor league baseball players would pay really really well, but it doesn't. Plus, she uses her own stash... which is good, of course, because they're her medicines.