Thursday, May 24, 2012


April and Dreena

I don't even know how to write this. You had long pink manicured nails.  Always pink, like roses.  You painted them yourself.  White heeled sandals with a matching white handbag.  Nevermind the Labor Day nonsense, we live in Florida.  Your sense of humor made grown men blush and your stern look could quiet a room of screaming children.  But mostly the blushing. You were always around to lend an ear.  Even when I called at ungodly hours.  Or worse yet, showed up at your door.  You used Facebook and email and never missed your afternoon stories.  You drank Kahlua with cream and loved shrimp cocktail.  Andes mints and salted cashews.  And babies.  Oh, did you ever love babies.  You stopped serving shrimp when I developed a shellfish allergy because you didn't think I should have to watch everyone else eat it. You started cooking whole turkeys at Thanksgiving when I told you dark meat was my favorite. The volume was never too loud and the crowd was never too many.  All of your dogs were named Tinky.  Christmas shopping started on December 26th and toys were never wrapped. There was always fruit salad and expired soda.  Your hair was set once a week and you wore bright red lipstick.  You loved back scratches and hugs.  Scratch hard and hug tight.  You were fiercely loyal and unconditionally loving.  I wish you had an answering machine.  I would call it again and again just to hear your voice.  

Easter Party

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Erin said...


Anonymous said...

How lovely to have such wonderful memories of your grandmother,and you say it so beautifully!

Unknown said...

What beautiful memories and beautiful lady.

I'm so sorry. xo

Pam (@iwriteinbooks) said...

Hugs, April. Beautiful reflections.

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