Grandma, awesome

The hostess tells us there’s a 10-minute wait so we settle into a couple of chairs near the entrance of the restaurant. I scan the room, turn to Grandma and sing, “It’s a pretty good crowd for a Saturday.” She smiles and taps her toes, even though I’m pretty sure she doesn’t recognize the Billy Joel song. I look up and catch two seventy-something men at a nearby table checking out Grandma. At 87, she turns more heads than girls my age, I think, and this makes me laugh.

Every time I tell people about my grandma, they smile and giggle mostly because they probably think I’m exaggerating about her awesomeness.

(The photo to the left is of Grandma and fam on the Jersey shore many moons ago. My dad's the blondie!)

You can tell when you meet her. On a single outing to the mall, Grandma will smile at a grumpy sales person or wave at a whining, beyond bratty kid – exactly the kinds of people you don’t go out of your way to talk to. Grandma just starts talking and then in what seems like just a few seconds, their moods change for the better. They don’t have some be-nice-to-old-ladies fakeness. I swear they’re genuinely glad to meet her and at the end of the conversation, everyone walks away feeling happier.

I think the sweetness came from her growing up on a game farm in Tacoma, Washington where her best friends were chubby raccoons, chipmunks and baby elk. That gave her a Snow White kind of magic. Animals are drawn to her like they know she’s tender hearted. Dogs, cats, squirrels, raccoons, chipmunks, hamsters and birds. I’ve seen them calm and approach Grandma with shocking trust like something on Animal Planet.

What I’ve always admired about Grandma is her positive way of thinking. I’m not sure if she was always that way since she was already 60 years old when I was born but she’s taught me a lot through example. With changes and not-so-great happenings in the family, she’s an optimistic matriarch. I’ve learned to focus on the good (or at least try to) before getting swallowed up with what ifs and worry.

(The photo, below right, is from a few years ago when Grandma, my sister being her I'm-too-goofy-to-take-a-normal-photo self and I had a memorable picnic on the beach.)

Grandma is also a stop-and-smell-the-roses kind of lady. When I was 15, Grandma took me on an Alaskan cruise and instead of going for the chocolate-flowing dessert party in the dining room, we headed to a quiet deck or the library to get a closer look at the glaciers. She told me to take a picture in my mind. And I did. On every trip I’ve been on since then, I steal away a moment like that.

Forever, Grandma has created and cared for a magnificent garden. Every flower, every bush, every little tree planted had a meaning: The celebration of the birth of a grandchild or great grandchildren or a marriage in the family. The passing on of a friend. Every year, it burst with colors of every shade and had a level of perfection reserved for a spread in one of those garden magazines for the richie riches of the world. It was a meticulous labor of love.

She’s the same awesome grandma we’ve always known, though she’s slowed down a little bit. A few years ago, her eyes aged faster than the rest of her body and she became legally blind. That meant no more driving which was a hard adjustment for a social butterfly but she really never complained. Over the last year, she’s had problems with her hip. And mentally, sometimes, things seem a little fuzzy. Questions get repeated. Old stories take unexpected twists. Names of family members are erased from memory entirely. I never thought much of all of that because she seemed her happy self. (The photo, below left, is of Grandma and Grandpa in 1942. So cute, aren't they? I know!)

One morning last summer, I stood in the garden – now overgrown and colorless. And I felt sad – not because it was indicative of Grandma’s inability to physically do what she could before but because she’s lost something she loved. Looking out into that garden is probably a jabbing daily reminder to her that she’s losing control of things.

On that weekend visit, after the car was loaded in the driveway, we hugged Grandma a little longer and waved and honked a little more, too. Later, I called to let her know the drive was a piece of cake and that we had fun visiting her.

She said, “Oh, yes, dear, nothing makes me happier than my darling grandchildren.”

I felt a little better. Maybe the garden, vision troubles and everything else that’s happened recently aren’t so bad as long as she has her family calling every day and visiting often.

Then she added, “When you get old, that’s all you really care about.”