Are you bragging or complaining?

Are you bragging or complaining?

That question from Granny, our no-nonsense neighbor, usually cut short the endless comments from a talkative teen girl.

Granny knew just how to cut to the heart of something. She was not our grandmother, but rather a neighbor and friend of our mother's who took us under her wing as well. Ten years older than our mother, she seemed to be more grandmotherly than an aunt and, in the south, we never called an adult by their first name. A Yankee, she abhorred the Southern custom of calling friends "aunt" when they weren't related. So, she became "Granny."

Granny was from Connecticut and of German descent. Her elderly father, Mr. Schumacher, lived in a little apartment off the garage. Quiet with twinkling blue eyes, he didn't talk much around us children. We loved to see him walking the sidewalk in the twilight smoking his pipe and smell the aroma from the pipe smoke.

Granny had long white hair tied up in a bun. She usually wore caftan or muumuu dresses. She didn't put up with nonsense. She had three boys, the youngest of which was just older than me. I had two younger brothers. So, I was usually the only girl around.

She was an excellent baker and when she made homemade donuts, we clamored for them. She promised a dozen donuts to anyone who could climb the huge rope tied to the tree in the backyard. All the boys attempted, some achieved the goal, but all had donuts.

Today, when I begin to recount my trials or woes, that curt question: "Are you bragging or complaining?" comes back to haunt me and usually stops the coming complaint.

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Editor's note: Annette Beard is the managing editor of The Times of Northeast Benton County, chosen the best small weekly newspaper in Arkansas for five of the past six years. She can be reached at [email protected].