Granny

I called my Granny this morning, on her 89th birthday.

She told me her greatest gift so far was her license renewal, asked if I could pick up a bouquet of flowers for her (she has been a florist for as long as I can remember), and asked if my husband was going to the AFC Championship game.

“We are Chiefs fans,” she said, “but your Aunt Betty is in love with Tom Brady.” Aunt Betty, Granny’s sister, is 90, and their brother Claude is 92.

Granny has always modeled the value of hard work for me. She says she would rather wear out than rust out, and she’s the busiest octogenarian I know, at least aside from her siblings. She raised five kids and helped her late husband operate a market gardening business, especially after he retired from his day job. Every grandchild has spent time with Granny at the Farmer’s Market, peddling homegrown fruits, veggies, and homemade jams and jellies.

But one of my favorite things about my Granny Marguerite: she has always had time for me.

I spent a sick day at Granny’s when I was young. She turned on Saved by the Bell on her gigantic wooden tv on the floor, kept juice flowing in the sippy cup, and made me one of her famous hamburgers (my cousin calls them stove burgers). When I felt better in the afternoon, I attacked her candy collection, all lined up in glass containers on a hutch in the dining room.

In junior high, I walked to her house every day after school and hung out until my dad picked me up after work. My cousin and I continued that tradition when he moved to our town in high school. Gran always stopped whatever she was doing to chat, then turned MTV on for us while she made stove burgers. Now in my thirties, she still drops whatever she is doing to sit down and listen to me when I stop by (now there’s just no Jay-Z in the background).

One of her favorite places is Branson, Missouri. Some of my favorite childhood memories went down at Silver Dollar City, where my Granny and Aunt Betty dropped me and my cousins off and told us to meet them at the gazebo at 5. No one was ever abducted, so it worked out pretty well for a bunch of kids who loved the freedom. She also took a crew of us for ear piercings once, which did not go over very well with our parents, but we were elated. Gran also put in a pool at her house when I was about four. The whole family jumped in for pool basketball and whatever odd games my uncle made up for us, and Granny would finish up in the garden or in the kitchen and jump in, too, usually fully clothed.

She has a pretty great sense of humor. My dad tells a story of getting in trouble in elementary. The students were saying the Pledge of Allegiance, and dad was holding his hand under his chin, flapping his fingers along to the pledge as though his hand was talking. The school called his mom to report the incident. She laughed.

Granny has lived in the same house for most of her life; her parents moved to the home when she was a kid, and she remains there still. She hosts meetings for women of her church and works in her floral studio and picks berries in her garden. Gran never makes me feel like she needs anything from me; when I’m ready to catch up, we pick up right where we left off. She’s always fun, always cheerful, always hospitable. She’s a constant in my life and I’m grateful for her.

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