Grandma

She's the one who serves expensive preserves instead of grape jelly and cleans up the milk Grandpa spills because I say, "That's enough!" instead of "when."
She stocks lemon drops, circus peanuts, and wafer cookies instead of beets because Grandmas spoil children.

She's the one who uses the vacuum that sends me running on short, chubby legs to the safety of the sofa when mommy's away having the baby.
She introduces me to the miracle of my new sister (all the tiny fingers and toes!) and reminds me that I am still special.

She's the one with the color TV where we gather to see Tinkerbell and Ed Sullivan and who has the Christmas tree with the spinning icicles.
She sparks my imagination, fills my life with wonder, and surrounds me in the warm embrace of family.

She's the one with the wooden shoe that laces, the pompom clown, the sock monkey and the stereo that plays "The Salty Dogs."
She welcomes me to a familiar port and provides a safe haven where I dance uninhibited with my sisters.

She's the one who insists I brush my tangled hair even when I have the mumps, but brings chocolate drops to ease the pain. 
She expects discipline and offers affection.

She's the one who tells stories on my mom . . . like the one about the much-loved and very filthy Raggedy Ann doll.
She reminds me that grown-ups were once children and still need somebody to hold onto and love.

She's the one who watches me sit on Grandpa's lap, giggling because he's trying to put my barrettes in his quarter-inch hair.
She teaches me that life goes on when death takes her "other half" and she marries another "Grandpa."

She's the one who knows the importance of a ticket home for this wayward child and tells me I should write.
She overlooks my imperfections, forgives my failures, and focuses on my potential -- believing I can do great things.

She's the one who gave up her car keys, lives in the efficiency apartment and sends birthday cards . . . and email.
She impresses upon me the importance of knowing my limitations, being content and having the courage to keep learning.

She's the one with the memory book filled with photos and clippings and nice notes.
She causes me to look back fondly and to look forward happily to a day when I, too, may serve expensive preserves instead of grape jelly.

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