It’s the time of the year again where I get to hang out with my grandma. If you’ve been following this blog for a while you may remember she’s had some issues with her memory. And that I’m nuts about her.
New Year’s Day, while I was busy not getting nekked, she was showing the first signs of the effects of eating the Christmas chicken a week past its best. My uncle bought her some Imodium and some Hydralyte. Four days later he took her to the doctor.
By the time I arrived on the 8th for my holiday vsit, she claimed to be feeling much better. She was eating and bossing me about and grumbling about the two liters her GP insisted she drink. On Sunday night she barely slept, and on Monday morning we set off to the GP for a follow-up blood test.
She is an inveterate backseat driver, which these days manifests itself in instructing us all on which route to take to our destination. On this trip, we started by dropping my uncle at the station. From there, I drove toward the GP. She became quite insistent that I was heading in the wrong direction, though it was a familiar road and well-signposted. I pointed out old landmarks. “I’ve never seen this place before!”, she insisted.
While I can follow the ant trails between this city’s suburbs fairly well, and know the road to her GP, I didn’t have the address of the clinic, and with my grandma insisting we weren’t there yet, we overshot the destination by a good ten kilometres. By this time she was quite distressed. We were passing windmills, so we agreed it was time to pull over and let Google Maps do the talking.
I handed Ma the iPhone to settle her down. “Here, Ma – we’re following the red line down to the bottom left of the map. We’re the blue dot. Can you watch the blue dot and tell me if it goes off the red line?”.
She applied herself to the task at hand, offering frequent updates. Then, out of the blue: “It says we have to go to Google!”. Huh? I took a look. She’s not so silly, the logo overlay does kind of look like a suburb.