Dana

Dana was my grandmother
On my father’s side.
She lived with her daughter,
Aunt Dofeen
And son-in-law,
Uncle George
A block over from us
In San Diego.
She was born in Virginia
About the time
Of the Civil War,
And went on to marry
A rather storied
Naval captain
Who apparently led
One of the ships
That took Manila
In 1898 during the
Spanish American War
My grandparents
Were stationed
In the Philippines
For many years afterwards
While my grandfather
Gallivanted around the orient
And played explorer
Throughout the South Pacific.
My father was actually
Born in the Manila
Back in 1908.
Dana went on to outlive
My grandfather
By at least forty years,
And when I knew her,
She was already
Extremely elderly
And quite senile.
I never got to hear her
Talk about any of her experiences
During those early years,
Though I am sure
There was much to tell.
She was lucid enough, however,
To set money aside
For my private school education
And to make an investment
In a local bottled
Water company
In my name
That would later
Be worth
A small fortune.
She never seemed
To begrudge
The loss of her mind.
As I recall her,
She was always
Pleasantly demented,
Possessing both
The mentality
And the enthusiasm
Of a three year old
In a ninety year old
Arthritic body.
Her innocence
Endeared her
To almost everyone,
Especially to salesman
Selling Florida swampland
And western sagebrush farms.
She mainly busied herself
Writing letters to people
Who had died
Some fifty years before.
I remember one
Classic Dana incident,
In particular.
It was just after
She got home
From a short stay
In the hospital
Where she discovered
The pleasure of bedpans.
Dana must have thought
They were the neatest
Invention in the world,
For she brought
Some over for us kids.
For some reason,
My mother didn’t
Seem to be
All that amused
By Dana’s humble generosity
And aged thoughtfulness.
I only hope I have
Half as much character
And just as much fun
When I reach that age.