In Loving Memory

Apologies for not keeping people up-to-date.  Like John said, we have had several moves and are just now getting settled into our new apartment and new schedule.  More than that though, I felt a bit unsettled chattering on about our day to day life without saying something to pay at least a small tribute to our Grandma Joan, especially since we were not able to be at home and celebrate her life with the rest of our family...

Grandma Joan was the quintessential grandmother.  From her closely cropped curls, to pot roast dinners, she embodied the stereotype of what a grandmother ought to be.  She was a "grand" mother, by the strictest definition.  Even if she barely stood taller than my shoulder, I can't help but think of a "Grand" Admiral, or a "Grand" Vizier, a  master of their domain; someone who has, through years of patience and practice, reached some sort of pinnacle of their calling.  As a mother, my calling mostly involves ensuring my children survive until bedtime and, hopefully, until next week.  Mothering is "don't jump in the pond!" and "you just ate 5 minutes ago!" and "how the did you get on the roof?!?!?"  Grand mothering is "would you like me to read another book?" and "sit right here in my lap," and "how about another cookie?"  Grandmothering isn't just keeping children clothed and fed, it is hand crocheted blankets and that extra cookie after dinner.  

And part of me thinks that this would be impossible to emulate.  By my reasoning, I'm too worried about making sure my children aren't eating the poop that's mysteriously smeared on the floor to worried about "extras."  By a grandmother's reasoning, what child in their right mind wants to eat poop when there are cookies?  I haven't had the opportunity that age gave Grandma Joan to realize that what I think are "extras" are really essentials.  That when you pare away life's clutter, you let go of anxiety and achievement in favor of love and laughter and extravagant nurture and tulips and daffodils and chocolate chip cookies.  

And so, I hope I can emulate her in some small ways.  That I can smile brightly, make easter baskets, grow a garden and open my heart and my home to others.  That I can age gently and gracefully; that my face can melt into laugh lines framing lively eyes, and that I can give so much of myself to others that, when I am gone, my daughters and grand-daughters will know what it means to nourish and nurture and will pass those blessings on again to their children.  And, John hopes, one day I may come close to baking her world-class cookies.