Dad was a handy man with a razor strop, or a belt. Mom, well, she was good with a wooden spoon or any other of a number of kitchen implements- when nylon bowl scrapers came along, I cursed DuPont.

Gramma, on the other hand… Gramma would use whatever she could reach. And now let’s be clear; never in my life did I ever get a non-well deserved asswhipping, and I escaped more than a few that I did deserve- but Gramma was creative and opportunistic.

There were, among other things
Rolled up towels
couch cushions(You can’t imagine that you could do much damage with that, could you? She could)
magazines
antimicassars
dogs (Yes, one time she hit me with the dog. Don’t ask)
encyclopedia
bottles (plastic, thankfully)
telephones
wrenches
toys
clothes
toilet brush (Thankfully, never the plunger)
hair nets(Sting! I’ma tell you!)
enema hose
Enema BAG
a radio

etc. You get the point. If I was being a little shit, she would disavow me of the action. To be fair, she always grabbed and hugged me afterwards and told me not to be a little jerk. Gramma lived with us for many years, and died in our house. She was stunningly beautiful when she was 20, my mom still has a picture. When I knew her she was an old squarehead kraut. But I loved her.

The enema bag thing will stay with me a while.