Monday

In loving memory of my grandmother, who passed away today, I'd like to say a few words, as if she were reading.

When I was a boy I thought you were going to get sick and die because your orange juice was always spoiled. But it wasn't spoiled, it was half vodka.

You made great cheese biscuits that are probably really easy to make, but I'll try never to learn how to make them in order that my sense of awe be preserved. Nobody could make cheese biscuits like you.

You played peek-a-boo with your hound dog Hazel. That's awesome. I liked how Hazel actually enjoyed it.

You told me as we drove by it on a number of occasions the exact house in which my uncle David was conceived. You also offered to tell me things I might need to know coming into puberty. There was no way I could take you up on that, but thanks anyway.

You collected the same quarters as I did in a giant piggy bank under your bed, the bed where I would watch the Dukes of Hazzard. You were the first person I ever knew to have a TV in their bedroom, and the last not to share a bedroom with your spouse. I think someday I'll revive that tradition.

You were kind. When children told you stories that made no sense, you would act amazed and encourage them to continue. I am having trouble finding words to express how nice that is.

Maybe the best compliment I can pay you is that you had my first favorite laugh which always started with one squeaky syllable, "hee", that sounded like it bounced right up out of a hole in the ground.

Farewell, grandma, it was nice knowing you.

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