I'm sitting at the kitchen table enjoying a Fuze Peach Mango, when Grandma walks in.
"Fuze? Never heard of it! Is that a drink?"
"It's juice, but would probably taste good with rum in it."
"Ooooh! Too bad I don't have any rum. We used to have a lot of stuff. Scotch, rum, whiskey, wine. Yeah, Grandpa liked to have a drink every now and then."
"What about you, Grandma? What was your drink?"
She starts giggling. "Oh, I was a cheap date! I'd have one drink and sip it all night. There used to be a tavern across the street. Grandpa would help out there after he retired. They had a trio play on Saturday nights and they would have lots of nice parties, especially New Years Eve. Yeah, that was nice."
Soon Grandma is giving me a rundown of all the bars that used to be in the neighborhood and the families that owned them. One of the traits of Grandma's dementia is that she starts repeating herself and her stories circle around themselves. Within three minutes she is back to the part about Grandpa working at the tavern and one of the owner's sons being a police officer. She'll repeat both facts again before dinner is ready. Still, it is worth it to hear her giggles.