It’s been two months since I’ve posted anything, but I’m a little drunk on emotion and need to write.
My last grandmother — a survivor of the Great Depression, the world’s greatest storyteller, owner of the biggest cookie cutter collection I’ve ever seen, master of the Myst computer games, wizard at cards, Scrabble genius, photo album creator extraordinaire, mother to four daughters, and many other wonderful things — passed away today at the age of 80 years in a hospice center in Dayton, Ohio.
In many ways I was prepared for this.
While I was in town about 3 years ago, I joined her for breakfast at the Golden Nugget restaurant. She used to take my brother, sister and me there as kids and order the famous “clown waffle,” which is exactly what it sounds like. Except better: A giant Belgian waffle smothered in whipped cream, topped with maraschino cherries for eyes and nose, a sausage link for the mouth. And big heaping cups of hot chocolate, topped with (of course) extra whipped cream.
After the waitress refused to indulge my childhood craving for the edible clown face, my grandma and I sat there holding our big-kid hot chocolates (aka coffee) and talked about life.
