Grandma Crazy

When we arrived in Tbilisi after spending the night on the Georgia-Armenia border, we rented a room in a big house on a hill, recommended by the driver. Besides the other transient guests, a group of Italian journalists, the building housed four generations of Georgians, with an 80+ matriarch. She seemed nice, if a bit senile, when she greeted us with a big hug and a kiss on the forearm (she’s a bit hunched over) but the Italian photographer warned us not to get to close to her. "She's crazy," he whispered.

Grandma Crazy snuck up on us when we were exploring the kitchen and bathroom facilities, and gave us an unsolicited explanation for her hunched back. "When there was the earthquake, I fell down," she said. "My back – broken!" She grabbed my hand and placed it firmly on her right buttock, then dragged it up along a paunch of wrinkly flesh so I could get a good feel for the fracture.

The lady seems to get little attention from her daughter and grand-daughter, and once while we were showering her great-grandsons pushed her on the floor and stole her money. No wonder she takes every chance she gets to hug us, kiss us, and make us touch her in intimate places.

There's really no escaping her. Since our room has a window that opens onto the common area, she can just stick her head in and talk at us whenever she wants.



Look out! It’s Grandma Crazy.