My paternal grandmother was a really funny woman. Funny ha-ha as well as funny strange. It is therefore no surprise that I turned out the way I did. She was the daughter of a fire chief. One of the earliest stories I remember being told is of my grandmother, decked out in her finery (she was going to a fancy event), sliding down the brass pole in the fire station. Rather daring under normal circumstances for a young lady in the early 1930’s, bordering on plain-dumb-stupid when your father ...