October 12, 2015 by Ellen V
Last Thursday, my grandfather died. He left quite a legacy: a strong wife, twelve children, thirty-three grandchildren, and twenty-five great grandchildren.
I didn’t know him well, and I won’t pretend that I did. Most of my memories of him involve tours of the farm or, later, visits to his matting and framing shop. The farm is actually the centerpiece of my childhood memories to the rural Minnesota town where my grandparents lived, and my interactions with him are fairly peripheral. I learned to drive on those country roads, had sleepovers with my cousins, ate lots of chocolate chip cookies. They are good memories. Jane and Eric only met Grandpa once, and Sidney never will.
And tomorrow, that darling baby won’t be a baby any more. She’s toddling around, getting into trouble, trying to join in conversations. Somehow, a whole year has gone by. I’m not sure how it happened, honestly. She’s so happy. She loves to be hugged and kissed, and seems to be content just playing, especially if someone will sit with her a while. Her hair is still red, her trademark for now. It’s good to have a unique quality like that, since it distracts everyone from noticing how much that girl eats!
Yesterday was this gorgeous Sunday: 70 degrees, crisp air, leaves turning, sun shining. We went to Mass, cleaned the house, put clothes on the line to dry, painted pumpkins, ate cupcakes, mowed the lawn, and had our usual Sunday movie night (Charlotte’s Web). It seemed like a good way to celebrate life.