This post is cross posted from Falls, off the Rocker, Jason's personal blog. At some point tonight, St. Peter's gonna have a mess on his hands. Elsie Falls, 91, passed away early this evening. She was a pistol right up to the end, and I'm pretty sure the angels up there are tidying up the place so as to avoid her wrath. Now, my grandmother wasn't a mean woman by any stretch of the imagination. But when you're around her, you'd better mind your manners, pick up your mess, wipe your nose and stop pickin' at that ... whatever it is. If he's lucky, St. Peter paid heed when Granddad warned him a few years ago this day would come. It's hard to tell stories about my family for fear the dysfunctional parts will embarrass or piss someone off. But Elsie Falls, my father's mother, is one of the few of our clan that you can't tell a bad story about. She taught dance ... folk dancing mostly ... most of her life. If that wasn't her full-time job, taking care of my Grandfather was. He was in World War II for three weeks and Walter Reed Medical Center for three years. He lost most of one leg, parts of both arms and every chance at a normal life in a fox hole in France in 1942. His dutiful wife cared for him and my Aunt Jean on her own, kept him in insulin shots (he was also diabetic ... apparently lost a bet with God or something) and, luckily for me, bore Sr. a son in 1949. Jr. is my dad. When I was born in 1973, Grandmom was right there. When my Dad left when I was three, his mother tried like hell to take his place, all the while taking care of her mother and siblings, my Grandfather and more, all of whom lived hours away from me. I only wish she hadn't taken care of that evil poodle Louie who is burning in hell somewhere, I'm certain. Grandmom came and got me every summer and many winters, took me to Roanoke to watch ballgames with Granddad, Lynchburg to see Mee-Maw (her mother) and command the riding lawn mower on the back lot at the family farm. After dad got his life together, she even took me to Pittsburgh to see him every chance she could. In a lot of ways, Elsie Falls was the glue that kept our family together all these years. She's why we grew up smart, clean and healthy. She's why we love each other despite our idiosyncrasies and differences. She's why we know from whence we came, that no one is better than us but neither are we than they. At four-feet, nine inches on a tall day, she was a dainty, even fragile woman. But looks are deceiving. If it came down to her and angry bull, I'm takin' the old lady every time. Unfortunately, 91 years, eight months, Alzheimer's Disease and congestive heart failure got the best of her. We hate to see her go, but know it was time. Besides, I hear tale Granddad's been flirtin' with some chorus gals up there and St. Peter hasn't been tuckin' his shirt in of late. Watch out, fellas. Elsie's on her way. PHOTO: Elsie Falls with her great grandson, Grant. Summer, 2006.