I took another Monday off from blogging last week because I had just returned home from a trip. My family and I had ventured up to Battle Creek, NE to visit my 81-year-old grandmother. She’s a great lady. Despite the fact that we have differing opinions on . . . a great many things . . . I love her dearly.
I try to get a photo of her every time I visit. I didn’t last time, but here is one from the time before:
She’s pretty sweet in many ways. She lives on the acreage her parents lived in for many years. When her mother passed away in the early 1980s, she moved there from Hannibal, MO with her husband (my grandfather) and youngest children to help her father out. My father, her oldest child, had long since grown up, moved out, and created a family all his own. After her father died 15 or so years later and all her children were grown and off living their own lives, she stayed, so did her husband. When he followed her mother and father to the grave a few years later, history-in a way-repeated itself because I moved in with her. I spent two-and-a-half of the best years of my life on that little acreage. When I lived there, I really became a writer, I learned how to farm, I graduated from college (the first time) . . . I also gained 30 pounds.
She’s a great cook.
The weight melted off when I moved out . . . .
There are a lot of quirks to my grandmother’s personality I could explain here. I could tell you all about her bout with polio, about how more than one doctor said she would never walk yet here she is, 81, still walking like a champ. I could describe her deep and enviable faith or her sharp, if a bit forgetful, mind.
But I’m not.
I’m going to tell you how she pronounces the word ‘cafe.’
Of all the many endearing things about her, I think I like this one the most. In my admittedly small world, it gives her a uniqueness that I will remember long after she’s gone.
Of course, I plan on her being around for a good many years to come, so I have no idea why I feel the need to write this.