Everybody's grandmother is crazy, James. And the older they get, the crazier they get. It's one of the privileges of living to be very, very old (I'm excited for it, personally). My grandmother was a crazy Mexican lapsed Catholic, too, and she probably only didn't drink because she didn't need any help from the bottle to be crazy (though she did get into a huge fight with my uncle one year at Christmas because she insisted on having a beer with her yule log and he didn't want her to because she was old and frail...that was pretty funny, looking back on it). Then there was the time she announced over Thanksgiving (post-stroke, from her wheelchair) that she was going to travel to Kenya for vacation and that whoever wanted to come with her had only to volunteer to push her everywhere. There were no takers, and then a giant argument ensued because she refused to believe my aunt and my cousins, all of whom insisted that Kenya is not wheelchair accessible. "What do YOU know? I've been to Egypt! It's the same thing! You people don't know anything. Idiots." Then there was the time...oh, nevermind...I better stop now, or I'm going to tear up.
I miss that crazy old woman. God help me, I'd give anything to listen to another half an hour of her crazy, pro-Marxist (she learned this stuff when she was about 85 years old from an old Jewish man that she had a crush on at the senior's center; "of course it's sensible -- HE'S JEWISH!"), pro-Schwartzeneggar-groping ("What? It just means that he likes women. When did that become a crime? Does everybody in California have to be gay?") rants. May God have mercy on her soul.
Grandparents are the best. They're like your parents, but everything about your parents that drives you crazy drove them crazy already years and years ago. Voila -- instant bonding.