TO BE

Continued. . .

The little girl on her daddy’s lap is my great-grandmother, Daisy, born in 1880.  She was smart, opinionated, and domineering.  She taught me how to set a proper table, starch pillowcases, buy the best cuts of meat and play Canasta.  She also taught me manners, ‘In case you should dine with the President someday.’  Years later, I would, in fact, share a meal with two Presidents. She thought that women who wore bright, red lipstick were ‘harlots.’  When I was 12, she made me promise that I “would never ever turn out like your mother.”  My mother wore bright, red lipstick.

Daisy’s daughter, Josephine, was my Granny Jo who mostly raised me. She was shy, introverted and quietly religious.  She worked as a high school guidance counselor and taught me the importance of a good education. Ahead of her time, she also composted, made carrot juice, practiced yoga and ate alfalfa sprouts.  When she learned I wanted to be a writer she bought me my first typewriter.  Granny Jo met and quietly disapp…