My grandmother would have been 100 years old this month. It doesn’t seem possible. Her name was Edna. We called her grandma Ednut. She was tall and attractive and looked good in jeans and sweaters. She had gorgeous long legs and wore heels anytime she could. She also had the ugliest feet I’ve ever seen. She never had a short old lady hair cut, but instead kept her hair in a swinging bob that framed her striking jaw. After mowing her lawn in the summer, she liked to sit in a lawn chair, overlooking her work, and crack open a cold beer. She cooked for all of us non-stop. Gravy was a beverage. Homemade cookies, as large as saucers, were in the corner of her kitchen at all times. When we visited for a sleepover, we always hit the grocery store (where we were allowed to get anything we wanted) and the butcher (where she made sure we were given “ham off the bone” to nibble on while we waited). But before procuring sustenance, we went to the bank where she withdrew and then counted crisp bills. I was sure she was the richest woman alive. There would also be time spent in her sewing room where she would quickly whip up the prettiest new dresses for our dolls, lace lining the cuffs and hems. I even had a lined pink velvet cape for my favorite figurine. My daughter has this cherished hooded piece in her doll wardrobe today. And if all of this loving attention wasn’t enough my grandmother did more. She showed up at every sports event with chairs, blankets when it was freezing, and juice boxes (before anyone I knew bought them!). She came to Grandparents Day and gave me the correct answers to my spelling test under her breath. She lavished all her grandchildren with love and attention and money! She financed our expensive Victoria’s Secret bras (not my brothers, they didn’t wear bras), interview suits, and much more. She would slip twenties into our pockets for “gas money” before we headed back to college. My grandmother wasn’t perfect. Surprise. She was human. My relationship with her was more fraught the older I got as my views diverged from hers. When she discovered that I had no intention of ever taking my husband’s name she responded, “Who would want to marry you then?!?” Thankfully I had a quick response, “They’re lining up, grandma!” I’m glad Fox news didn’t exist while she was still alive. With time, I have forgotten most of these more difficult things about my Grandma Ednut. Instead, I can still hear her cackle. I delight in telling my children about her. I make things in the kitchen just like she would have, especially her world famous crepes. I received her dining room table, and sit at it every night with my family, feeling her presence. This is how saints are born in our hearts. No life is perfect, but a life lived well graces the imperfections so that the broken bits get left behind. What remains is love. My grandmother loved me wildly, just like she did all her grandchildren. Her love remains a wellspring in my heart to this day. I imagine how she would enjoy my children and, as I imagine this, a silent voice urges me to enjoy, to feed, to care, to laugh, to tend, to love. What greater legacy could we strive for? Happy 100th Grandma Ednut. Your love still blossoms all around us. So may all the saints.
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