As a little girl, I always thought Grandma Olsen was the serious grandma. Grandma Rodrick was the one who would let us drink 7-up at breakfast. Grandma Olsen was the one who told us to sit up straight at the table.
Anyone who knows me well, knows I can't abide the smell of cooked eggs. I haven't been able to eat them since I was a toddler. On a day many years ago, my grandmother served us all boiled eggs as we came to the breakfast table. No matter how I protested, there was no getting around her and a hard boiled egg. It took forever to choke that thing down. When my mother finally got up and was asked "How do you want your eggs?" She told her mother, "In the refrigerator" and got away with it. I was so irked! How come my mother could get away with that nonsense? Twenty years or more after that morning, my mother learned that Grandma doesn't like eggs. Never has! While I washed bits of egg down with water and milk- she just kept cooking! Never dawned on me that she hadn't made a plate for herself. I also ate quiche that she made especially for me and a college boyfriend. She said she wasn't hungry! Hah! She probably doesn't like quiche any more than I do!
My grandmother is a woman of many sides. She played goalie on a team in high school. She skated well into her 70s. She drove until she was 90+. She has high heels and sneakers. She knits and bakes and manages her daily life with grace and style. Thanks be to God for the blessings of all my grandparents, but this weekend I am especially thankful for Grandma Amy. She is a faithful, gracious face in the cloud of witnesses around me.
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