Where the Cool Comes From

It’s fine to have a cool Grandmother or two, as we do. But, dude, let’s face it: as The Blues were the seeds for Rock, you do not have cool Grandmothers without the super-cool Great-Grandmother. Here we have said super-cool Great-Mother, Harriet, driving Max crazy with some mad buzzing action from his bumble-bee chew thingy. See, parenthood is nuts: you can write a sentence like that with absolute shamelessness!
So, anyway, if you ever are thinking that you don’t want to live past eighty; that you see the octogenarian era of your life as a quiet celebration of feebleness while you drift into the great unknown (I’m projecting here, BTW), then I present for your (re)consideration, Harriet: Super Cool Great-Grandmother.
Regular dancer, road-tripper, singer, card-player, Boy-friend tolerater, Max lover, whip-smart comedian extraordinaire: she does it all. So, before you lament your later years, ask yourself “What Would Harriet Do?”. Well, first, she’d tell you to put a blanket over yourself, you might catch a chill; then she’d ask you if you really thought about the clothes you were wearing.
You’d wonder how you ever worried about your eighties and hope you end up half as cool as Harriet.