One Last Note

Grandma, kneeling. With my Mom. Busy. As always.

College.
That first time away from home.
That trip and stumble into the real world.
Fortunately for me, my stumble landed me in the lap of comfort.
For the first semester of my college life, I lived with my Grandma Stringam.
Her house was like an oasis.
Every surface shining clean. No self-respecting germ would even think of taking up residence.
It was quiet. That peaceful quiet that settled into your very bones.
It was organized. Wholesome, made-from-scratch meals emerged with clockwork precision. Baking at regular intervals. Deliciousness an integral part of every morsel.
Industrious. Grandma was a weaver extraordinaire. Self-taught at the age of seventy-five, she was constantly immersed in some project--most of which went to someone else. A leather-worker. She tooled all sorts of purses and belts and even three-legged stools that had to be seen to be believed. And all of which were bestowed upon some other lucky soul.
Learned. Grandma encouraged learning in all its facets. She, herself had attended college long before it was common for women to do so. As a college student, one had to make sure one learned at least a little every day because Grandma was going to pull something out of you with her end-of-the-day questions. And it had better be knowledge.
Supportive. Grandma was interested in your life. Your physical well-being. Your faith. And you. And she had an opinion on all of the above. You wanted nothing more than to live up to her expectations.
Strong. Grandma was firm in her beliefs and ideals. And nothing was going to move her. Certainly not you, Grandchild #35 aka Diane.
She was loving, demanding, kind, sympathetic, smart, bossy, patient, ambitious, insightful, faithful, determined, and one of the most amazing people I have ever met.
I have no doubt she walks the hallowed halls with granddad.
That the meals are regular and plentiful.
And that everyone around her is clean, organized. And busy.
I miss you Grandma! I love you.