Regarding story number ten, it was a real incident. My grandfather took the pie out and dumped it into the adjacent pasture. He then, washed the tin it was baked in himself, thoroughly.
This grandmother would refer to my uncle, grandfather, myself as “Buddy”. My uncle is nicknamed “Buddy”, no one in our family calls him anything but that. Me, grandfather, Buddy all share similar facial features.
We all also have been soldiers, share a common “sense” that is common sense. Having been trained as soldiers, our mannerisms seem complimentary and uniform, we move the same. Grandma having Alzheimer’s onset and senile dementia feels more at ease to just call all of us Buddy.
This meant too, we all became Buddy to help her. If she needed something one of the three of us surely attended it. There was no need of discussing, all three of us just acted as one, and one as three.
What one could not do, another could. One may start, another finish. In that sense her three Buddies became buddies. I often sensed a fourth invisible and silent buddy, her perfect buddy.
My grandfather on my dad’s side too faced Alzheimer’s and a mild touch of dementia. This often gives me pause, considering some suggest it skips a generation. That means I’m right in line. Yay! 🙂 *chuckling*
Oh well, thought this was a good fit for one of the plot ideas. We never did know if the pie had poison in it, or not. Simply better for everyone to presume it may have.
Despite misguided attempts to kill her Buddies, still love my grandmother. Still love my granddad, Pap, as well. Hope he catches some good fish at that eternal river, now. 🙂 Figure he he’ll have tales a plenty for my uncle and I when our respective times arrive.
And no, Pap was not “whacked” by grandma. He passed on from natural causes.