Grandma was the anxiety queen. She needed Paxil long before it was invented. She considered Grandpa to be the number one source of her anxiety, but I think eighty percent of her ranting came straight out of her imagination. Grandpa, for his part, was oblivious to most details of domestic life. It didn't trouble him that Grandma was oblivious to what he did at work all day to support her comfortable home life, yet somehow she felt vindicated directing her vitriol at him. Even as a kid, I could tell her logic train left the station without her.
So Grandma worried, fretted, and complained every time she opened her mouth, then wondered why no one wanted to spend time with her. The sky was always falling in Grandma's universe.
Grandpa buried his nose in books, collected antiques, and was completely unruffled by Grandma's occasional attacks on his character. "You never listen!" or "You don't understand!"
It was true that Grandpa didn't understand Grandma, but he was at peace with his ignorance. The sky was always blue in Grandpa's universe. I couldn't blame him for seeking solitude in books. I think he would have loved to have a pair of earplugs to enjoy his books without the unpleasant background noise from the anxiety queen.
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