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My Grandmother taught in a one room schoolhouse at 16 years old. Grades Primary to 12, she taught

them. I have her school bell here somewhere. It's a treasure to me. She taught me how to find the

square root of any number with a pencil and a piece of paper because she was indignant that they

weren't teaching me that in high school. I can't do it now because I can't remember how for the life of me...but I remember sitting at the kitchen table with her and having her teach me how.

She brought up two boys mostly on her own after my grandfather died in a bulldozer accident. Dadwas 8 at the time and the older of the two boys. That would have made her 28 and suddenly,

unexpectedly, a widow with two young boys. She did get remarried eventually, but the boys were hers

to raise. And she did a fantastic job of it. My uncle is one of the kindest, most easy-going men I knowand my Dad is a great guy, even if I have a biased opinion. The true measure of that is the fact that my

other grandmother loves him to death, even though my mother and Dad divorced 32 years ago. And

she still thinks of my uncle as a bashful little boy who was the cutest thing she had ever seen ;)

The new husband (not so new by now), when I was about 4 I think, went into the barn with a shotgun

and tried to kill himself. He had spent some time leading up to this by himself in the upstairs of the

house not talking to anyone except me (this I found out much later in life when I found a picture of mecoming out of the door at the back of the kitchen which lead up to the “kitchen chambers” and asked

what I had been doing up there). He survived. His cheek bone, right side upper jaw and right eye were

 just gone, but he survived. A few of the local guys came to help, Dad talked to him in the barn and kepthim conscious until the ambulance arrived, when everyone else went to the hospital mom cleaned up

the blood in the kitchen where it had been tracked in, and my Grandmother dealt with a manic

depressive man who had been un-medicated up to this point. After this he was medicated and spentsome time in a place where they could watch him and evaluate his chances living at home (this was a

long time ago now). My Grandmother dealt with the situation, him and the time adjusting his meds, his

family and her own family. I doubt, in the same situation, I could have managed as well as she did.

She was no stranger to tragedy. Grampy B. was not an easy man to live with. In a wheelchair, arthritisridden, manic-depressive with occasional relapses until his meds were again adjusted, bedridden for 

 periods of time...he was a contrary old bastard most of the time, but he had his moments and she looked

after him until the day he died years and years later. She taught me tolerance for him and how to dealwith him and enjoy the little victories behind his back :)

My grandmother was the type of woman who wouldn't lie to you. She did firmly believe in “If youdon't have anything good to say, then don't say anything” though and I imagine she had some

impressive tooth marks on the inside of her cheek at times. She could be very diplomatic if she thought

the situation called for it, but she said what she thought. And if she said nothing and you knew her well

enough, you could tell by the expression on her face if she was doing the “don't say anything” part :) Ireally wish I could be a little bit more like her in this. But she had much more practice than I did at

keeping her opinions to herself I guess. Maybe I'll improve ;)

I can't say she “wouldn't say shit if her mouth was full of it”...she'd say “shit” alright...if the situation

were aggravating enough. But I don't think I ever heard her say anything stronger than that. That's

why I was so shocked the day she looked at her dog and said “Oh Skipper, don't be such a horse'stwat!” blinkblink  “Grammy what did you just say?!” She looked at me kind of surprised and repeated

what she said and I asked her what she thought a “horses' twat” was. She said she assumed it was a

horses ass. I calmly told her that no, “twat” is another word for female genitalia. She stopped what shewas doing, looked very serious for a few seconds and then burst out laughing and said “Then I guess

it's a good thing I never called Jean that, isn't it?” Jean was the next door neighbor :) I had to laugh.

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Grammy worked as a cook in a lumber camp for at least one winter when my Grandfather worked in

the woods. Which likely explains her impulse to make sure everyone was well fed. She was used to

feeding hungry men. Grammy B was a “feeder”. If she had any of the local guys around working she

fed them lunch. She fed all of us after we came out of the woods from hunting. She had breakfastready for me every morning I lived there and even when I went home to visit. It was always simple but

very good food. And there was always lots of it. Suppers with more than three people always involved

having the wood range covered with pots. I loved that stove. It was one of the big white enameledEnterprise wood burning ranges with an oven, a large stove-top and an overhead warming closet. It

also had a secondary oil burner blowing into the firebox that she used to help get it going sometimes. I

miss seeing her working at that stove.

I will never forget the time one of my live in boyfriends told me he thought Grammy might be an

alcoholic. I took a moment to relax and then asked him why he thought that might be the case. The

answer? He pointed out that the first thing she did whenever anyone arrived was offer them a drink.She kept a 40 of rum under the sink and some port in the refrigerator all the time. She often had a glass

of port on the go in the summertime. And sometimes she seemed a bit more silly than normal. Okay

then....I let him know the “glass of port” was over half water and had ice. She liked the taste but notthe buzz. The drink offered to guests...that's what you did when guests arrived. You offered them the

hospitality of the house and her boys liked a drink of rum after a long day. I don't think it would take

 both of my hands to count the number of times I saw her pour herself a drink of rum. As for thesilliness, that was normal as far as I was concerned. She and I could get into some rather interesting

conversations that were really more amusing to us than to anyone listening to us. I get my dry sense of 

humor from her and it wasn't always apparent to that particular guy what was going on when we talked.Did I stop and think about what he said? Yes. Did I come to the conclusion there was anything to

worry about? No. People didn't always know how to take my grandmother. Her sense of humor and

dry wit went beyond what they expected or knew how to interpret sometimes. And she was one of 

those people who didn't say a lot in a crowd, but when she spoke it usually stopped the room. Did heunderstand her? No. Same way he didn't really understand me, and that's the reason he's long gone

now.

Although, learning that one of her requirements for her new ride-on mower was a cup holder for her 

iced port and water amused me greatly ;) And I remember her admitting one day that she decided

maybe it was time to get off the mower because maybe her port and water was a bit strong for the hotsun that day ;) I laughed at that. She looked so sheepish when she was telling the story. Apparently

the path left by the mower was a bit less than optimally straight when she checked it. Yup, time to give

it up for the day.

My Grammy B. let me get away with things that would have made most mothers cringe. I dissected a

 bird's wing on the doorstep to see how the muscles connected to the bone. I boiled a skull that I had

found to get all the dried flesh off it...I did this in the kitchen on that nice wood range I was talkingabout earlier...in one of her pots. I disappeared for hours at a time into the pasture with the animals

there, in the woods behind that, to the shore, and rambling all three from one to the other. She had an

idea of where I was in general because I always stopped in and told her were I was headed...but I wasalmost always out of sight and far away from the house. Of course I was a teenager the whole time I

lived with her so she wasn't too worried about me and she knew that both I and Dad knew the land

around her house for quite a distance. Me getting lost was no worry to her. I credit my generalconnection with the world around me to this leniency she allowed me in my wanderings and her 

tolerance for the things I dragged home to inspect more closely.

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She knew I spent most of my time alone and never really questioned it. I was very private about a lot

of what I did outside of the house, but she trusted that I wasn't doing things I shouldn't be. She knew

about my (official) extra-curricular stuff at school; that I was in the choir and was rehearsing for the

school musical. She was shocked, however when Dad took her to see the musical (“We'll MeetAgain”) and she saw me on stage dancing and singing. She told Dad she had no idea I could move like

that. Not much call to do a jitterbug jive in the house ;) And I didn't really sing much at home. She

knew I had friends I hung out with at school. She had heard most of the names. But she was surprisedat how close we all were when I sat and told her about some of the problems some of the kids had and

how they regarded me. I can't even remember how this talk came up...maybe it was when I was telling

her and Dad about going to see the Vice Principal about one of the guys. I went into his officeuninvited and reminded him that hauling in Wes over something that was “reported” to have happened

“at the Charles St. doors” was a little premature since there were two sets of doors on Charles St. and

Wesley wouldn't do anything to hurt any of us girls...in fact he usually did just the opposite; protected

us. Both my Dad and my Grammy were mildly surprised and amused by the thought of me doing thatapparently.

I only made her cry once, that I know of, by being stupid. I was supposed to be home at midnight,called to say I'd be a bit late, then was driven up to the house at 4am. She was so worried and had

called Dad in tears. I think what made him the most upset with me was that I'd made her cry. Hell,

that's what I was most upset about. Needless to say, it never happened again.

My grandmother taught me a lot, through observation, about what's important and what's not. I

sometimes forget and stress about things more than I should, but overall I try to remember. She wastough and fair and not a complainer. She wasn't outwardly emotional but she was a lot of fun to have

around and a very caring person. She was a hard worker and spoiled me horribly. I never wanted for 

anything. I didn't ask for much because I learned from her example that you don't really need much to

 be happy. And if there is something that needs to be done, you do it. And you take pleasure in thesmall things. Because if you spend all your time waiting for the big things...then you may just spend

all your time waiting instead of enjoying life.

I lost my Grandmother to cancer in July, 2002. I miss my Grammy.