Jack's Grandma's name is Gaye- we should have known then

In Houston we stay with Jack’s Grandma Gaye (“gran-maw” he calls her). She is just wonderful and she reminds me of a retired good witch, with her high pitched, yet raspy voice. She has silver hair, small sparkly blue eyes and pudgy cheeks. She reminds me of Miss Piggly Wiggly and I feel an immediate acceptance when we walk in, unconditional love just for existing. I’m not accustomed to this in grandmas. Mine drills me with questions about what I’m doing with my life and I know if I give her an unsatisfactory response she will be sucking her teeth and droning, “Oh Nicole, it just saddens me so much that you’re not going make something of yourself. I was really hoping to see you go to Law School before I die.” Jack's Grandma openly calls him a "little ho" and laughs with him about his escapades, yet carefully reminds him not to get that "disease boys like him can get."
Grandma Gaye’s home, which resembles a country cottage, is in a disarray which makes it all the more cozy- I imagine I could spill a drink or make a mess and she would shrug it off, again very much unlike my grandma who freaks out if I so much as sneeze. Dust bunnies decorate the walls and one has even been lurking in the corner of the shower. I have to shampoo with one eye open because I’m not actually sure it’s a dust bunny. It looks like it could be a spider ready to attack, and I don’t fuck with bugs. Grandma Gaye waits until she gets inside to light a cigarette and the scent pleasantly lingers in everything around us. Jack and I borrowed some towels for the beach and granmaw’s exhales came along with us. She’s 67 and admittedly has 15 years left max, but is content about it. I am 26 and panic about only having 80 more years max. She eases my fears about growing old and makes it seem desirable even. She did what she was supposed to in her life, didn’t push the forces too far, but followed as she was guided. I think that’s why she leaves the dust bunnies. G-man put them there for a reason unknown to us. Between the dust and ashtrays, Jack and I both cough all night, but not as much as his “gran-maw” who has chronic bronchitis. She has accepted her fate, but I have already fallen in love with her and I worry about her coughing and chain smoking.
By the end of our visit there his 67 year old granmaw is talking about her Farmville account and how she wasn’t able to get enough materials to build a horse stable. “Me too!” I shriek, “We should beFarmville friends! I’ll send you stuff.” I still don’t feel ready to admit that every tractor, tree, barn, horse and baby foal I see out here in rural Texas automatically computes to a large pixelized version of what I’m used to seeing in Farmville. I’ve been in NYC so long, I forgot these foreign entities (i.e. trees) actually exist. I wonder why she enjoys the game so much when she’s surrounded by the real thing.
On our last day in Houston, Granmaw takes us to breakfast at Chain Breakfast Restaurant. We eat and Granmaw tells us about our astrological sign. I am Sagitarius and she says that I will state an offensive observation with pride, not even realizing how gauche and tacky I'm being (i.e. Nice truck. You must be compensating). Damn right!