Mainstreet. Actually the only downtown street.
My gramps had terminal cancer. My grandfather was German. So you understand now that the cancer had no chance of succeeding as long as he had something to do with it. Well, being german and the corn whiskey he kept in the garage.
My grams had heart disease. My grams was Scotch-Irish. So you understand now that the ticker was not going to quit as long as she had something to do with it.
What's this all have to do with the Parma Cafe? Well....it was during my 15-18 years of age. I would get up in the morning and meet them with a smile and make sure all meds and feeding tubes were attended to. Then after school, I would do the same. But...sometimes I had to track my gramps down to take his meds. He'd take off to see "humans" as he put it and to find out if Hitler and Elvis were still dead. I would usually find Gramps in the Parma, Cafe. He'd smile when I walked in, blow cigar smoke in my face (you could still smoke in restaurants) and say, "fella's, the Damn Swede is here to take me back to the house." Then he'd grin, and tag along after me. Damn Swede was my nickname.
Now, before I found Gramps at the Cafe, I had stopped by the house to give Grams her meds after heart surgery. One day I said, "I wonder why grams is always sleeping and slurring? I give her the meds on time right after school." Gramps said, "I give her the meds just before I leave for the cafe." So we had been double-dosing grams happy meds to keep her pain free. It took a while to wean her. :-)
I have fond memories of this cafe. We had breakfast there during our visit. 35 years and it is still the same inside.
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