A Full Life
My grandmother died this morning. I'm sort of focusing on that today.Her passing was not unexpected. We had a scare last fall and I flew out to see her you may recall. She was a very old woman and nobody lives forever.
As it was, she lived a very full life.
Her father was a minister and true to type, she and her two sisters were little hellions. They used to go to school in a covered wagon (swear to God) and whenever they got a bit of the Spring Fever, they'd walk to the wagon stop and hide from the driver. Then, they'd play hookie. She used to love talking about stealing watermelons and playing down at the creek all day, only walking home once they had seen the wagon go past again.
She soon went from skipping school to teaching school. In fact, for many years she taught all grades in a one room schoolhouse. She used to tell such stories!
She was engaged to my grandfather for 7 years before they could afford to get married. When they did finally take the plunge, they were married in the front seat of a car because the minister's wife was canning and wouldn't let them in the house. They were married over fifty years. Maybe over 60 - I'm not sure anymore. A very long time.
She survived the Depression and the Dust Bowl. She helped my grandfather build the farm. She raised four children (only 2 of which were her own). She managed to be feisty enough to survive and ladylike enough to get away with the feisty grit. She was the kind of woman who would tell you to go straight to hell and then offer you some iced tea for the trip. I loved that about her.
She loved the bright red color of red geraniums and loved fancy nightgowns. She used Oil of Olay every day of her life and wore a bonnet to keep the sun off of her face and it showed. She had wonderful skin. She used to make pancakes for breakfast and we would eat them with apple butter and drink Tang (does anybody drink Tang anymore?). She worked every bit as hard as any man I've ever seen and I can still smell the carnation lotion she wore. For that matter, I can still smell the work on my grandfather and see the pile of boots at the bottom of the stairs in the mudroom in the old house.
My grandmother loved fancy things. Fancy dolls, fancy dresses. She used to buy us a new dress every year for the family reunion. We always got dresses with bells in the skirts.
She wasn't perfect - nobody is. She could be mean. She was shy. But I don't want to think about those things today.
Labels: In all seriousness
