Grandma

My grandma collected cow knick-knacks.  But not because she wanted to.  She said someone gave her a cow, and then other people saw that cow and started getting her more cows.  So, she had a cow-themed kitchen, but not of her choosing. 

She crocheted.  She made afghans for many of us grandkids.  She quilted.  She made clothes for her 13 kids when they were little. 

She was madly in love with grandpa.  They met while he was a medic in WWII.  He was a friend of her brother in the 21st infantry.  My 18-year-old future grandma wrote letters to a few of the boys, and to her brother.  My grandpa wrote back.  And they fell in love writing letters to each other.  My mom, the 7th child, would often catch them necking in the kitchen.

She smelled like cookies and "Cool Waters" perfume.  She was smooshy.  When she hugged us, we were completely enveloped in her smooshy softness.  When she laughed hard, she would put her arm on the closest surface, plop her head on her arm and laugh silently.  She loved old gospel music and could play the piano.  When I told her that I was dating a guy who was probably going to be a pastor, she said (in all seriousness), "But you don't play the piano." 

One of her index fingers was a stub because, when she was 2-years-old, she lost the tip in a meat grinder.  It was her first memory ever.  And she could still remember vividly the image of her daddy standing in the doorway, white as a sheet, before whisking her up and tending to her finger.

She would rock me in her rocker until I was much too big to rock, and then she rocked my firstborn.

I miss her.