Grandmom

 

Grandmom (top left) with her sister and parents.

I was very lucky to have a grandmother who loved me unconditionally. I never questioned her motives or wondered if she meant the things she said. She was the best grandmother a kid could have.

She was our safe port in the storm of childhood. We didn't always know what was going on at home, but we knew the minute we entered Grandmother's house that everything would be the same. 

Her home was warm and comforting. The floor furnace made ticking noises when it heated up and it was fun to stand on it and let the heat blow up our pants legs. We spent a lot of time playing games on the carpeted floor in the living room or sitting at the red table in the kitchen while Grandmom made us grilled cheese sandwiches.

Reflecting on it now, I know her house was pretty small, but it always seemed to be exactly right. From the Mr Kool-Aid red plastic pitcher on top of the refrigerator to the hard-backed books with the pretty covers that I never saw anyone read. Don't get me wrong. Grandmom read all the time, but I never saw her touch the pretty books in the shelf.

She was so smart. She did the crossword puzzle every evening. She knew all those arcane words (like arcane) that puzzle creators love. She was a great cook. She always wore an apron. Until she retired, which was in her 70s, she never wore pants when she went out in public. 

I can't say what I miss most about my grandmother, who would have been 100 years old today. There are too many things. Nobody pats my hand. She could convey more meaning in those little hand pats. She had bad arthritis in her hands and her fingers were swollen and twisted some. She hated how they looked, but I loved them. How many times did I play with her rings because they never stayed in place and always wound around her fingers? 

My grandmother was Reba Margaret Cross Smith. Happy birthday, Grandmom. I surely miss you.