I'm the only one she lets call her that anymore – that's been her nickname since I can remember. Gramma called her that.
My uncle and I tickled her until she wet her pants. Another time she chased us around the kitchen with a knife. We just laughed. She was always washing dishes, and washing in the milkhouse, too. She was always there, yet always a part of the background.
She liked to walk into town and visit the Catholic church. She wasn't supposed to walk into town anymore. She would stay and talk to the Father. They were going to get married.
She stopped at the little grocery store, just a small half-block from our house, to get a pop and a candy bar. She always asking someone if they had a quarter. Yes. Can I have it?
She is the oldest out of ten. My mom is third.
She lives in a "home" now. She was with Gramma and Grampa her whole life. Then it was just her and Grampa. Until he had to be put into nursing, then passed.
Mom picks her up for shopping and get-togethers or just to spend the day. Phones have been known to ring off the hook the other times. She can be a handful, I know. But still a part of the background.
She is the icon of what was. She is the unknowing matriarch. Even though I live so far away now, I am so glad I have small opportunities to show her that I love her.
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