Butter Safe Than Sorry by Tamar Myers Page B

I was in the parlor at that point, I jumped on the nearest chair-- sideways .
    "Oh, calm down, Magdalena; you always were such a drama queen."
    I whirled, which meant that I toppled off the chair. But although I flailed like a downed helicopter, still I managed to somehow land on my feet, and facing the opposite direction to boot.
    "Grandma!"
    "As big as life and twice as ugly."
    It was a true statement. Indeed, there she was, Grandma Yoder, in all her fierceness, complete with bristling bun and bristling mole. The only problem was that Grandma Yoder had been dead for thirty years--no, it was closer to forty by now. How time flies, even when you're not having fun.
    "Don't look so surprised, Magdalena Portulacca; you've seen me before. The fact is, you see me just about every time you manage to--uh--you know."
    "You mean 'screw up'?"
    Apparently Apparition Americans can be just as sensitive as their real- life counterparts were. Grandma Yoder's face turned six shades of white as she raised a knobby finger, which she pointed just inches from my face.
    "I have half a mind to wash your mouth out with soap, little girl."
    "I'm not a little girl, Grandma; I'm fifty-two years old."
    She stepped back and gave me the once-over, as if really seeing me for the first time that evening. "Hmm, so you are; but this is still my house, and I won't be having you using that kind of language."
    I pushed the chair aside and took a step forward. "No, it's not your house anymore, Grandma; you died. And Mama and Papa died. This house is mine now--in fact, this isn't even the same house; the original blew down in a freak tornado."
    "Ha, but can you blame it? Look at the way you've been treating this one? There's a scuff mark on the wall over by the door, and that left lower screw on the hinge should be tightened by a quarter turn."
    "Still a stickler for minutiae, I see."
    "It's won or lost in the details, Magdalena; that's what you still don't seem to understand."
    " What is? What's lost in the details?"
    "It."
    I wanted to grab her by her bony shoulders and shake her. In fact, I tried to, but there is no grasping an Apparition American; they are as ethereal as a Middle East peace plan. Anyway, she'd never get me to agree with her--even if just out of spite--although I really did believe that "broad strokes" approach was the only way to accomplish anything in the rat race this world had become.
    "Your way might have worked for you, Grandma--although from what I've heard, you were about as happy as a petunia in an onion patch--but I think I'm finally old enough to make my own mistakes--uh, decisions--thank you very much."
    Grandma sighed, an action that has been known to keep dust motes afloat for half an hour. "Fine, have it your way--as always . But see where it gets you. You keep this up and you're going to lose that hunka hunka burning love, not to mention that adorable great-grandson of mine. What's his name? Little Samuel?"
    "No, Grandma. Samuel was Grandpa's name."
    "Well, there's no need to get huffy!"
    "I didn't. But since you've obviously been hanging around for some time, you should have been paying better attention to your great-grandson's name. And what kind of Mennonite grandma says 'hunka hunka burning love'? You didn't listen to the radio when you were alive; you said the Devil lived in there, and inside every TV set in America."
    "And I was right! But I was wrong about Elvis. He's da bomb. We listen to him all the time over here--but in person. In fact, your grandpa and I are going to a concert tonight."
    At that point I knew that either I was doing some serious hallucinating, or else I had somehow managed to fall asleep and was having one heck of a nightmare. Grandpa Yoder watching Elvis Presley shimmy those hips was as close to being sacrilegious as saying that Noah's ark was just a story, because there are at least five million insect species in the world, and they would have had to enter in pairs, and just the weight of them alone