I went to mostly public schools growing up until I got into SMU on academic scholarship after attending a community college for two years.  My kindergarten and first grade years were spent in a small, “Christian” private school.  I attended public elementary from second grade through sixth.  Middle school was seventh and eighth, and high school was Freshman (9th), Sophomore (10th), Junior (11th), and Senior (12th.)  The year that I loved so much was fourth grade.  I’ll never forget we got to go UPSTAIRS AND switch teachers!  We had a homeroom teacher and then actually got to move from class to class.  We were old enough to be in the talent show and that was the year I made a program called “Talented and Gifted” which just really meant we were able to learn cooler stuff and more was expected of us.  One of the things I remember about the fourth grade was that after math and before lunch we got to play “the Line Up game.”  So, our teacher would call out a color and those kids got to get in line first.  To be last to the cafeteria was awful and it meant there was not enough time to really relax or even properly digest your food.  “If you are wearing red you may line up,” Mr. Dealey would say.  Groans ensued for those not wearing red.  “Next!  You may line up if you are wearing green!” (more moaning) “and after that yellow!  Yellow may line up next!”  I think as we become adults we forget what a big deal the little things are, like being first in line.  It was 1980 and Sears had a line of clothing called “Toughskins.”  Their schtick was, if your child could put a hole in it they would replace it.  Being an avid outdoor kid, I was always getting into some kind of scrape.  As a switch from jeans, Mama bought me these plaid pants (same brand of course) and I despised them.  I find myself wondering now if I wouldn’t put my own little girl in them; with hindsight they were the end of the 1970’s adorable.  Anyway, I found a use for those pants and they served me well the entire year — for the Line Up game!!!  It did not matter WHAT color that man called; my pants had it all.  The American individualist Ralph Waldo Emerson once said, “Write it on your heart that every day is the best day in the year.”  And that is my hope for my growing little one this year; welcome to Fourth grade.

Ever since I was a little girl I have read historical romance novels.  They have been an escape, a pleasure, and have given me a lot of knowledge about what life was like throughout different periods of time.  For those of you not familiar, think of the Netflix hit “Bridgerton.”  Most of the stories I’ve read contained a “grand dame,” essentially the matriarch of a family having great wealth or prestige.  I have read many where the character is mean but the ones I always loved proved the grandmother to be forward thinking, gracious, and kind.  Early on, when I was dating my (now) husband, the first person to whom I was introduced was his maternal grandmother.  After over sixteen years I can still see her quiet, commanding posture as she sat by the fireplace surrounded by her little dogs … as regal as any queen.  When she inquired if I had animals, I told her I had a wolf hybrid, a husky, two turtles and seven cats.  I will never forget she just smiled and replied, “Well, you are just as nutty as my daughter!”  I am so proud to call the woman whom you see pictured above my grandmother-in-law.  I just took this at her 95th birthday celebration.  I suppose because she has reached such a milestone birthday, I find myself reminiscing over the time I have known her.  Shortly before my husband and I were engaged he invited me along with his maternal family on an Alaskan cruise.  I want to say his grandmother turned 80 on that trip — and it was fantastic!  This woman took a military, all-terrain vehicle (like something out of “Tomb Raider”) to the top of a glacier so we could race sled dogs.  The thing was it was for groups of three, and we were a group of four.  I will never forget this woman, who must have understood I did not want to be with strangers, declare, “Well, I am SICK of you all!” and she went off to ride with another couple.  On a family wedding trip to Spain we were invited to an afternoon sherry tasting in tables of four.  I was married by then to her grandson.  So there we were, in heat akin to Texas, and this indomitable woman split four carafes with me which were intended for four people instead of two.  Not only did she match me drink for drink, I shall never forget that she quipped, “Well, with every drink I get more witty and beautiful.”  I fell in love with her right then and there.  For a woman who grew up in the Deep South, I saw her welcome a black man (whom we all consider family) into her home and to a very old Country Club.  At the risk of sounding impertinent, she is smoking hot.  She only recently stopped driving but still takes her dogs on a daily walk.  Claiming to not be tech savvy, she has told me she was going to throw her iPad into the swimming pool.  She emails and reads books on it regularly.  This woman accepted me on sight, despite that my family was far from well-to-do.  She maintains a positive attitude, has faithfully been a lifelong member of the Episcopal Church, and has always managed to have SOME time to spare for me.  I have watched her swim with sea turtles in Mexico and hike in the Sangre de Cristo mountains of Santa Fe.  When she was at our house our first Thanksgiving I was horrified when our cat leapt up and ran away with the turkey.  As he went careening down the length of the formal dining room table his hind leg nearly kicked my new wedding china to the ground.  Nimbly, she reached out, caught the plate before it shattered, and just laughed and laughed.  She has several monikers, but when our child was born I asked if we could call her “Great.”  She told me she did not feel comfortable with that, as that was her late mother’s name later in life.  I proposed “GG” or “Gigi” (for great-grandmother) and she happily accepted.  Once, when our little girl was a toddler, I was worried about leaving her while my husband and I went to a ball.  I’ll never forget she said, “Laura, I’m going to give her a pot of sugar and let her play in the fire.”  I will also never forget when we had tremendous snow storms and had no electricity.  My baby’s lips were BLUE and we finally broke down and called her, asking if we could at least spend the night.  She warmly greeted us in the door with milk punch and, as always, was the most gracious hostess.  The woman STILL makes a chicken curry which is so good our now nine year old recently was caught shoveling it with her hands!  My mother-in-law was kind enough to send me a picture of a gift her mother received at her party.  It reads:

If I should live to a ripe old age may I possess some bit of individuality, charm and wit.  That I may not be discarded when I am withered, worn and weak, but sought after and cherished like a fine antique.

And that she is.  She is truly the epitome of a grand dame.