I hated gravy, when I was little. I must've been 7 years old, in my mommy's kitchen with the women all around me. Grandma Del. gave me a spoon and said "stir the gravy". I looked out of the window in that tiny kitchen, before the renovation had given us a door there. We were surrounding the tiny table in the nook. I scrunched up my nose and stirred the horrid looking concoction that would become gravy, after awhile. I guess no one would like gravy, if they had to stir it together at 7 like I did. Those are the joys of being the eldest child of the 27 year old young mommy. Littler children were occupying themselves and grown up 7 year olds had to be occupied with womanly duties. I know now that Ruth's job in my life was to remind me how old I really was and not how old I was being treated. Grandma Del was certainly my delegator and Grandma Mon was just love and loving in my life. Grandma Hanst reminded me that I wasn't Glen, just a great-grand.
I look at my turkey this 2015 and am grateful for the delightful grandmothers who poured gravy into my soul and made me totally basted with lots of love and flavor. I use my basting spoons to try to share some of what they gave me to you girls and boys, men and women. I try to help you enjoy the taste of the gravy, maybe a little more than I did.
Thankful that we were on your schedule this year for Thanksgiving and so sorry that we couldn't make it to you for the birthday. You are a barrel of laughs. You yelled back at Emily, like none of us do, yesterday.
I laughed so hard at your way of shutting her up.
