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Happy 110th Birthday, Grannie

Two days ago, March 4, was my Grannie Inkster’s birthday; she would have been 110 years old.

Grannie died when I was just twelve years old - too young for my aching heart, but old enough to have stored up memories:

Papery thin skin, wrinkle-soft to the touch. A crumpled tissue rolled up in her sleeve, always at hand. Matching dresses, shoes and accessories. Curly coiffed hair, and Elizabeth Arden eyebrow liner.

Tea time, served with buttered loaf on a tiered tray. Milk poured into a pitcher, for our breakfast cereal. A homemade apron. A dollop of jam carefully placed on each bite of toast. Sliced ham and mustard, served with scalloped potatoes and pickled beets.

A rainbow of garden flowers, planted from seed in tiny pots. A framed baby photo of me on the piano. Soft words.

And love… lots of it.


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