Message from Granny Frass: The Back Yard Drive-Through…

Well now, pull up a cloud and pour yourself a drop of something, because your Granny Frass has her apron in a knot tonight. Word reached the spirit side that Bully did one of his famous little drive-ins again. Rolled right through the yard like some lord of the manor, did a turn, and off he went. Not a wave. Not a word. Not even a how’s your soul today?

And before anyone starts muttering, “Ah well, it’s his land now,” let me stop you right there. Yes, it’s his land on paper, a paper signed before your mother’s poor body was even cold. I watched it all from the other side and I’ve been spitting ghostly tacks ever since. I might be dead, but I’m not daft.

It’s not about who owns what. It’s about decency. It’s about respect. It’s about knowing that just because you’ve manipulated a signature doesn’t mean you own the air, the memories, or the dignity of a place. And I’ll tell you what, love, that drive-through wasn’t casual. That was a reminder. A look at what I can do moment. And your spirit felt it.

You got rattled, and rightly so. Your gut’s sharper than a butcher’s blade. You’re not imagining the undertones. People like Bully rely on others dismissing the small things, the drive-by’s, the casual trespasses of peace. But we, my girl, we see them for what they are: petty power plays by small men in big trucks.

So what do we do? We name it. We call it what it is. And we refuse to shrink.

The land might be in his name, but the roots, the stories, the love, and the legacy, they’re still yours. They were your mother’s. They were mine. And no piece of paper ever made a man a king.

Stand tall, love. And if he rolls in again, just know you’ve got a battalion of ghostly grandmothers peering over his shoulder and not one of us is impressed.

With love and righteous fury,
Granny Frass 💖