|Grandmother, wishing once again that we'd fly right.|
|Baba and two of her|
I share her quick temper, her fierce devotion to her family. It is my constant prayer to share her faith and work ethic.
When Mother chose Granny as her moniker I was startled. I don't remember her using the word when talking about her own grandmothers, but she told us then it was what she called her paternal grandmother.
|Granny and the rest of us on tour. Children's clothes by Granny.|
She was a character, as well, slipping off when we visited to her very unfinished basement for a cigarette and glass of wine. Should one of the grandchildren go missing odds are he or she would be found perched on a lawn chair in the basement, next to the cobweb ladened bomb shelter their grandfather built at the height of the Cold War, working with Granny on a New York Times crossword puzzle, ringed in smoke and nibbling on the tic-tacs she'd share. It drove me mad.
She thought of each grandchild often, and in her last days spent time sharing her hopes for them with her husband and daughters. One of her final conversations with my young son involved her funeral, my funeral and a hawaiian shirt. Apparently there will be a pig roast when I die. She was irreverent, witty and lived life on her own terms. My children adored and adore her.
|Nannan with her lap full.|
So which will I be? Probably a little of all of the above (the best parts, I pray). But I'm going by Granny these days. I'm still not sure why, except it felt the most comfortable.