You see, I want to wake up on November 3 to a houseful of Thanksgiving. I want to see turkeys and pumpkins and count my blessings because today is Gram's birthday. Thanksgiving was her favorite holiday, and above all else she taught me to always count and name your blessings--no matter what else was going on.I learned so much from Gram. I learned that all you need in the kitchen is "a little cooperation" and a fabulous meal will appear on the table. I learned to play bridge and mend clothing. I learned to save every useful thing because you never know when you might need it. She chauffeured to the library, piano lessons, and dance classes, arranging her schedule around ours. She was a grandmother and a friend, and not a day goes by when I don't hear her voice gently nudging to be better and be grateful.
Although I have numerous items that belonged to her scattered around the house, my china hutch reminds me most of her:
It didn't belong to her, and she didn't give me a single thing in it. But...she did tell me to unpack it. I suppose this story needs to begin at the beginning...Brad and I moved into this home from a much, much smaller apartment. I had carefully planned the perfect move, and his dad, brother, and our nephew (who was very small--younger than Issa is now) came down to help. Enter way too much testosterone and exit my perfect move. The muscles piled everything into the truck on night one instead of my two day plan, and carefully labelled boxes landed in the wrong rooms.
The next day, the boys headed out to do something, and I entered a serious funk. My plan was ruined, I didn't know where anything was, and I didn't know where to start. I tried to call Mom, but she wasn't home. I called Gram, and started to bemoan my fate. I could hear the slight giggle in her voice as she asked if my hutch was in the right place. It was. She asked if I knew where the china was. I did. I had loaded it carefully in my car. "Well...start there." It seemed so simple. I started unwrapping dishes and settling them into the hutch, and Gram started asking about the house. I shared my dreams for the house, celebrated the space and the yard, and babbled on about the island in the kitchen. The line was quiet for a moment. "It sounds like a great house. It sounds pretty perfect down there." That was all. No lecture about counting my blessings. no speech about overreacting. But I heard it. I knew. And I was grateful. She told me all about her bridge games that week and what was going on with all her friends. Where they had lunch. The "headlines" from the local paper. All while I unpacked not only the china but started with the next box. It seemed so easy now.
I hung up the phone calm and grateful--just like every time we spoke. And when I see that hutch, I remember not only to count my blessings but sometimes you just have to start the impossible task and it becomes so simple.
Today, there is a family seated around a table in heaven enjoying pork loin and celebrating a life well lived. Today, I celebrate a grandmother who taught me so much, loved me so well...and for that I am beyond grateful.
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