I remember
you sitting with grandchildren on your lap – my brother, Claire, and
Jessica. You would sing “Baby’s boat the silver moon, sailing in the
sky.” I can still hear your voice.
According
to you – all your female posterity had great legs. We were
born from women with great legs and we would always have
spectacular-looking legs…
I remember
there was a time when you could sit down to any piano and start playing
lovely pieces while you waited for us to get ready. Why didn’t I ever
record it?
I miss your
stew. And coming over to your house and finding a ring of orange lipstick
on the container of whipping cream. I still laugh thinking about how you
denied it.
You packed me
a lunch one morning when I had to leave for a meeting at 5 AM during my
senior year. Nobody had ever packed me a lunch before. I
didn’t like the type of sandwiches you made or the cheese, but the gesture
meant the world to me.
I loved that
you were the classiest grandmother in our neighborhood – the best dressed.
I miss your
home. I miss seeing you walking down the front hallway to greet us when
we came through the back door.
It wasn’t what
you knew… but who you knew.
No woman has ever
owned more purses, belts, shoes and dresses or received more catalogues in the
mail.
I wish I’d
taken more pictures of you – pictures of me with you and you with my
kids.
You had the most stalwart, staunch testimony in God and the prophet Joseph Smith that I have ever seen. It didn’t blind me from seeing you get angry as hellfire at some of the things you had to endure or demanding answers at some future point. But you never lost your faith.
I love how
this song will always make me think of you – the snapshots
of many youthful months spent with you in Los Angeles.
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