Grandma Edna

Today's post is brought to you by the number 91.

Yesterday, my Dad reminded me that my Grandmother would've been 91.  I was named after both of my Grandmothers and have always felt a particular kinship with each of them.  I find them fascinating and when family members tell stories, I always close my mouth and listen up; I don't want to miss an opportunity to learn more.

Edna, my father's mother, was born just outside of San Francisco.  In my opinion, she was a stone cold fox, the epitome of the 1940's siren.  As best I can tell, she met my Grandpa Jim when he was stationed in California during WWII.  After only a few days, he left and when he came back from the Pacific, she agreed to move literally across the country to a small coal mining town, where they lived with his parents.  (Doesn't that sound like a plot of some fantastic Nicholas Sparks movie adaptation?)

I have no idea what that transition was like, although, I'm imagining it was overwhelming and probably lonely at any given moment; but she toughed it out.  Eventually, they moved down the street from my Great Grandparents and started a family.  My Aunt and Uncle were born 11 months apart and then my other Uncle and Dad followed shortly after.  Since my boys are 14 months apart, I often think of her when days are crazy and wonder if she could relate to my situation?  I'm guessing she could relate, although I'm thinking her situation involved more red lipstick, high heels and cotton dresses.

I've seen pictures and heard stories about my Dad's childhood and from what I can tell, she was pretty awesome.  She made 3-D birthday cakes before they were going for a-thousand-bucks-a-pop (my favorite was the Barbie Doll cake she made for me where the ballgown was edible), ate cheese balls with toothpicks to avoid the orange stained fingers and once forgot her purse at a gas station in the middle of the desert on a trip across the country, which pissed my Grandfather off, but I find it rather lovable and legendary.

After a good life, filled with what I'm assuming were many happy moments (too many to count, I hope), she died on my Dad's 39th Birthday; she promised him that she'd make it to his birthday.  We buried her with the things she loved, a troll doll that was a grandmother character (don't judge us, it was the early 90's and troll dolls were incredibly popular), tabloid magazines and a few other treasures that she'd need with her on the next part of her journey.

It's odd to think that she's been gone for 20 years, it seems so long.  But, if Edna's kids and family are still mentioning her, laughing about "old times" and remembering her birthday 20 years after she's gone, then she must have done something right while she was here.

Edna and Jim on their wedding day.

Inscription she wrote on the back of the photo above.

Jim, my Dad and Edna at his High School graduation.