What be up under ye kilt, mate?

Eva, from Scotland, has been coming to this hostel every year since it was built (about 4 years ago) and knows The Crappensteins, she also sympathizes with me. She is 81, has a super thick Scottish accent, is a Grandmother of 5 and a real spitfire. I can only hope to have as many marbles as she does when I am that age, but considering how few I have now, it does not look good.

Eva spends 6 months of every year traveling; mostly in Australia and New Zealand. She is a God fearing Catholic who appreciates everyday she is alive and everything she has been fortunate enough to do and see. I met Eva last year when she was passing through (she stays at least 2 weeks) and I’ve never forgotten her. Well Eva is back! She is back and has moved into the Crap House for two or three weeks. I enjoy having a classic Grandmother figure around since I miss my own dearly.

I just find it difficult to misbehave when a classic Grandmother figure is around. By classic I mean a Grandmother who eats dinner at 4:30pm, knits because she enjoys it, keeps candy in her pockets, pinch your cheeks and won’t hesitate to smack you on the back of the head if you curse in her presence.

Eva has pretty poor eyesight and her hearing is quite bad. You have to stand right in front of her and talk loudly for her to hear you. She won’t admit it, but I think she can read lips. I have startled her many times, usually accidentally, and she responds by squealing and smacking my arm. I have to admit; when she is in the crap lounge watching TV I often stand behind her chair and quietly say inappropriate things because I know she can’t hear me. Hey, don’t judge me! You know you’d do the same!

The Crappensteins are having Eva help around the hostel. Okay, mainly she just scrubs the hell out of the kitchen counters and ovens, but it makes her feel needed. I didn’t want to bring up the fact that the woman is practically blind and can’t differentiate between a baked bean stain and a scratch in the metal stove, so I just let her do her thing.

The other day I went into the kitchen and saw Eva madly scrubbing the counter, her wrinkled spotted arm flab flapping wildly as she cleaned and I asked her how she was coming along. She replied in her thick accent:
“I cunna nut get thess clean Julie. A’ve bin scrrubbin fer hours and I jus cunna nut do it.”
I of course, realizing she was trying to rub out a burn mark on the counter, had to quickly excuse myself so I could laugh and not appear rude. I returned and tried to tell her it would never come out because it was a burn but she wouldn’t hear of it.
“Tarrre issn’t a stain Eva cunna nut get out if’n she trries!”

This happened about a week ago. Eva is still there. I bring her cups of tea and shortbread so she doesn’t collapse from hunger or expire from dehydration.