The Worry Gene
When I visit my grandmother, I am always amused - and sometimes a bit exasperated - with her propensity toward pessimism and worry. Don’t get me wrong: I love my grandma. She is a neat lady with a good sense of humor, and she has taught me some incredible life lessons over the years. However, optimism is NOT her strong suit.
Some of that comes from her upbringing during the Great Depression. Some of it comes from her mother, who was the Great Pessimist (also known as “Grumpy”). I am convinced that had A. A. Milne known my grandmother, Eeyore would have been female. On occasion, you can almost see the little black raincloud hovering over her head. Her mantra seems to be “turrible, turrible, turrible,” yet instead of being wearisome, it is somewhat amusing.
On our last trip we arrived in Springfield in the wee hours of the morning on Friday. Having driven the entire way, I kissed her on the cheek and went to bed, fully planning to sleep obscenely late. The weather had other plans.
About seven a.m., tornado sirens started going off. Since we live close to a fire station, I didn’t even notice them. Opie, on the other hand, came storming into the bedroom. “Mom! Wake up! There are tornados! We gotta get in the hallway NOW!” (Opie has apparently inherited the worry gene from my grandmother.) I stumbled out of bed to the kitchen where Grandma and Mom were making breakfast. Both televisions were on, and the weather report was indeed grim. Tornado sightings and damage all around us. Okay. Fine. We kept watching.
An hour later Grandma called her sister, Aunt Nola. (Aunt Nola has the worry gene, too.) I had to laugh as I listened to one side of the conversation. “Is there much damage?” Pause. “Hmmm. Well, are you okay?” Pause. “It’s just stuff. Do you have any Valium? You sound like you could use it.”
Some of that comes from her upbringing during the Great Depression. Some of it comes from her mother, who was the Great Pessimist (also known as “Grumpy”). I am convinced that had A. A. Milne known my grandmother, Eeyore would have been female. On occasion, you can almost see the little black raincloud hovering over her head. Her mantra seems to be “turrible, turrible, turrible,” yet instead of being wearisome, it is somewhat amusing.
On our last trip we arrived in Springfield in the wee hours of the morning on Friday. Having driven the entire way, I kissed her on the cheek and went to bed, fully planning to sleep obscenely late. The weather had other plans.
About seven a.m., tornado sirens started going off. Since we live close to a fire station, I didn’t even notice them. Opie, on the other hand, came storming into the bedroom. “Mom! Wake up! There are tornados! We gotta get in the hallway NOW!” (Opie has apparently inherited the worry gene from my grandmother.) I stumbled out of bed to the kitchen where Grandma and Mom were making breakfast. Both televisions were on, and the weather report was indeed grim. Tornado sightings and damage all around us. Okay. Fine. We kept watching.
An hour later Grandma called her sister, Aunt Nola. (Aunt Nola has the worry gene, too.) I had to laugh as I listened to one side of the conversation. “Is there much damage?” Pause. “Hmmm. Well, are you okay?” Pause. “It’s just stuff. Do you have any Valium? You sound like you could use it.”