11.12.09

Today, my Mom and I raised a cup of tea and silently wished Happy Birthday to her Mom

My Gran.

When, as an angry 20 year old, I arrived in the UK,

she took me in.

We fought.

We laughed.

We went walking around her town in the evenings, counting cats basking in the last of the sunshine.

She, being the upstanding lady that she was, wore skirts and tights and never tore them when we climbed over gates into fields.

She took me to castles.

Took me the museums.

We visited London.

We saw the Queen's flag at half mast and laughed at the thought of her going to have a cup of tea

I watched the Changing of the Guard.

We visited the Tower of London.

We argued,

I slammed doors,

She tried to dominate me.

She was of a generation when you had to respect your elders without question,

I wanted to be treated as an equal.

All through out our stormy Gran/granddaughter relationship,

we remained friends.

I became less angry, she became more lenient.

She loved my sons, dearly - and they called her O'Gran and loved her dearly back.

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.

.

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At her funeral, in January,

I was asked to say a few words.

My Mom had given me something she wanted me to read, and me being me, had left it at home.

So, I stood up and just told of a tale, of us, Gran and me, going for a walk, counting cats and climbing gates.

Happy Birthday Gran.

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Frost on geranium leaves

Bristling with frosty hairs

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I've been busy.