I’m going to be honest. I did not always like my Grandma D. When I was growing up, my Grandma A. was where it was at. She loved kids. She loved potatos. She loved chocolate. And her whole house was open and available to kids for playing. If you wanted to make cookies in the kitchen, you could. If you wanted to wear Grandma A.’s earrings while playing in her wedding dress, well, just put them back when you’re done. Going to Grandma D.’s house was much less fun. There weren’t other cousins to play with. There weren’t really toys (except for my Aunt B.’s old Barbies). And you weren’t allowed to touch anything or run around or make much noise. And she didn’t even have cable.
And she had fat wrists, which I vowed I would never have.
Which just goes to show you how life is, because I do have fat wrists, just like hers.
Ha, no, not just that, but if you live with people long enough, you come to see them in a lot of different lights. You come to appreciate things in some folks and see the problems with others.
And today, my dad called to complain that, at her birthday party yesterday, my Grandma D. insisted that everyone sing to her–not just “Happy Birthday” but also “I’ve Been Workin’ on the Railroad.”
I cannot tell you how happy that makes me and how sad I am to have missed it.