Today is my grandmother's 90th birthday. Kind of strange, since 30 years ago, I thought she was old.
I spent a great deal of time at my grandma's house growing up. My dad was a farmer and owned his own furniture & appliance store. My mom was busy trying to keep the farm and store in order as well as going to school full time, selling Home Interior, and going to college full time (and you all wonder why I am always so busy...) This all to say, I believe, my grandma was a God send for my parents. I was always welcome at her house and could easily say I spent nearly half my child hood at her and Grandpa John's house.
When I was was really young, I was Grandpa John's shadow, working in the garden, cooking home made popcorn, or just rocking with him in his old tattered yellow recliner. As I grew a few years older, I was grandma's girl as well. Many summer evenings Grandma and I hopped into Grandpa John's 75 ford truck and headed for the pond for some fishing. Grandma was the kind to never not get her hands dirty. She used to make fun of me for not wanting to bait a hook. I remember her man handling her needle nose pliers to dislodge a hook from the belly of the fish.
Grandma had softer moments too. I remember being at Grandma's house many times too sick to go to school, lying my head in her lap and her stroking my hair, just barely grazing the top of my scalp with her long finger nails. That effortless movement was a real sense of comfort when I didn't feel well.
Grandma was fun and love, but one of her favorite stories was when she decided to give me some discipline with a yardstick advertising the name of dad's furniture store. Apparently the yardstick didn't hold up, she met my dad at the front door with the yardstick in two pieces. Grandma thrust both the yardstick and me at Dad and informed him that he should invest in more durable yardsticks.
Time and the wearing of the mind has began to tarnish and warp Grandma's own memories of her life. Although the stories change minute by minute, I will never forget the memories Grandma and I have together. And as I see her and she holds me in a big tight hug calling me sissy, I know down deep in her soul she remembers too!
Happy 90th Birthday Grandma Frances, let's go for 100!
I spent a great deal of time at my grandma's house growing up. My dad was a farmer and owned his own furniture & appliance store. My mom was busy trying to keep the farm and store in order as well as going to school full time, selling Home Interior, and going to college full time (and you all wonder why I am always so busy...) This all to say, I believe, my grandma was a God send for my parents. I was always welcome at her house and could easily say I spent nearly half my child hood at her and Grandpa John's house.
When I was was really young, I was Grandpa John's shadow, working in the garden, cooking home made popcorn, or just rocking with him in his old tattered yellow recliner. As I grew a few years older, I was grandma's girl as well. Many summer evenings Grandma and I hopped into Grandpa John's 75 ford truck and headed for the pond for some fishing. Grandma was the kind to never not get her hands dirty. She used to make fun of me for not wanting to bait a hook. I remember her man handling her needle nose pliers to dislodge a hook from the belly of the fish.
Grandma had softer moments too. I remember being at Grandma's house many times too sick to go to school, lying my head in her lap and her stroking my hair, just barely grazing the top of my scalp with her long finger nails. That effortless movement was a real sense of comfort when I didn't feel well.
Grandma was fun and love, but one of her favorite stories was when she decided to give me some discipline with a yardstick advertising the name of dad's furniture store. Apparently the yardstick didn't hold up, she met my dad at the front door with the yardstick in two pieces. Grandma thrust both the yardstick and me at Dad and informed him that he should invest in more durable yardsticks.
Time and the wearing of the mind has began to tarnish and warp Grandma's own memories of her life. Although the stories change minute by minute, I will never forget the memories Grandma and I have together. And as I see her and she holds me in a big tight hug calling me sissy, I know down deep in her soul she remembers too!
Happy 90th Birthday Grandma Frances, let's go for 100!
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