Today I’m thankful for my grandmother.
I’m not wholly sure how to describe her. She is gracious, wickedly funny and occasionally terrifying. The woman is a gourmet cook and born hostess who could put Martha Stewart or Mary Berry to shame. She sings like a big band girl singer. She has a habit of mentioning recent local deaths whenever we visit and seems to relish the especially grisly ones.
This tendency was happily displayed the last time my sister visited. I only heard about this after the fact from my father – I was not there. I laughed so hard I went hoarse. Gran told my sister (my father was there as well) about a man in town who had killed his parents. With an axe. A month previously. She’d sat on the information all that time, saving it to tell my sister in person. My sister lives a four hour drive away so it can be a while between visits. I don’t if Gran was in on the joke, thinking “they always say I talk about people dying so I’ll show them” or if she genuinely thought my sister would find the information interesting. She is absolutely canny enough to be in on it but would never admit such a thing. I adore this woman.