Mike's grandmother that passed away last Saturday was 98. She'd have been 99 in December. She outlived two husbands and two of her six children. She'd lived home alone until two years ago.
Picture a grandmother. What a stereotypical grandmother looks like. Cotton housedress, wire rimmed glasses, grey bun, a jar of peppermint sticks on top of the refrigerator (the yummy soft kind). Now you know what Mawmaw looked like.
The last summer she was still living home, Mike's parents went out of town. It somehow got left to us to go gather the eggs from her henhouse and close the coop door at night. I told her I thought it was sad to take the only thing the poor hen owned.
"It's just an egg," she said, "and really that's all any of us have. Just an egg."
Not quite sure what the wisdom was, but there ya go.
Just an egg, grasshopper.
1 comment:
Somehow, this sounds like good advice.
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