Gram Rocked.

All 5 of us are home today. A weekday.
And we are scrambling in all directions.
Band Camp is in full swing, with Eldest as Drum Major. She needs immunization proof, shorts that come to less than 4" above her knee and 2 cases of clear soda pop and water. Poof! No problem.
State Fair has begun with Middlest showing her sheep, she needs a professional sign to hang above her pen, business cards and a way to hang them so the sheep won't eat the whole shebang, two clean ewes, hay, straw, paperwork, ear tags or identification tattoos not currently in our possession, but required before check in, show clothes clean and pressed and transport to downtown Columbus' State Fairgrounds. Youngest showing the dog at the State Fair needs him to not have hot spots under his ears, stink less and obey commands. And,  Eldest showing a Leadership project at the State Fair needs to finish her book (terrible!) and create a table top display. Who knows what items will be requested to instantly appear in order to make that happen.

Gram's Grands, circa 1970. Me on her lap in blue.

And I'm in turmoil, as my treasured Gram, at age 100 years, 5 months and 7 days has joined her husband, eldest son, sister, brother, parents, aunts, uncles, and countless friends with her God.  She leaves behind a legion of people whose lives are better because they were touched by Gram. Generous, open, kind, funny, no nonsense, easy, Gram was special.
I always thought this anecdote illustrative.
In college, or vet school, don't know which, I was travelling from A-B, and whenever possible, would swing through Pennsylvania to spend a day with Gram. Often this was a stopover between a great distance; A (Iowa, New Mexico, etc.) and college or parents' home; B (Virginia, North Carolina, Tennessee, Connecticut). I was often tired from driving 8-18 hours, and would have stumbled in late the night before, and up Gram's stairs after letting her know I was there.
The next morning, I stumbled back down, as I recall, in an oversize tee shirt and my underwear, in search of tea. Half way through her small living room, which was open to the kitchen, I realized the kitchen table was host to 4 wide-eyed teen age boys. They politely greeted my half -slitted eyes and surprised scowl with "You must be one of Gram's granddaughters. She's not here, she's gone to the store. Would you like some tea?" Ugh. Polite teen boys helping themselves to cookies before school. Only at Gram's. How many 80+ year old ladies have kids traipsing through the house at all times of the day, making a sandwich, having a handful of snickerdoodles? Barbies parked on the basement stairs, interrupted mid-game by the departure of the 9 year old girls.
Gram liked to rock. She rocked while she knit  Christmas stockings and sweaters (about a bazillion for us and every member of extended family and friends. And, I have to point out that in a ill-fated experiment in the 70's, she knitted bathing suits). She rocked and sang to each one of us. Lin and I were the babies, so we got the benefits of longest acceptable rocking age. I think we were in our 20's. Never once did she complain about our bony little butts on her lap. How did she do it? Rocking talent, and singing "Ka-ka-ka- Katie, beautiful Katie, you're the only Ka-ka-ka Katie I adore.....when the ma- moon shines over the cow shed, I'll be waiting at the Ka-ka-ka kitchen door!" Even at her 100th birthday, starting up "Ka-ka-ka Katie" got her joining in, head bouncing back and forth with the verse, eyes sparkling and a mischievous smile.
Gram at 93? years, called me. "Catie, I just went to the pound a got a dog."
"Oh? Really? (some trepidation in my voice having been witness to many, many types of dogs in my years as a Veterinarian- very few suited to the lifestyle of a 93 year old)"
"Sure, decided I wanted another dog."
"Well, Gram, what did you get (now curious, but hopeful)?"
"A Border Collie pup."
Silence from me. Thinking "JEEZ, GRAM! COULD YOU HAVE CHOSEN A BREED LESS SUITED TO LIVING IN A SMALL HOUSE WITH AN OLD LADY?????"
"Um, great! So, well, um, how is he, or she?"
"He's Good!"
"Wonderful, Gram! (there is no way a Border Collie puppy is going to be anything but trouble)"
Tells you how jaded and wrong I can be. Max was terrific. He had some issues with eating a couch and a carpet, but really, every puppy has those moments, and Max, like any Border Collie, wanted a job. When Gram brought him home, he felt hired. Gram was his job. He tended her like a needy flock of sheep. When she finally fell and really hurt herself enough that she never was able to go back to her home again, he was the one who alerted the neighbor that Gram needed help. With a little training, he likely would've  just called 911.
 I only knew Gram for the last third of her life, but I know for all three thirds, Gram lived. A lot. Gram knitted. A lot. Gram baked. A lot. Gram rocked. A lot. Gram was loved. A lot. And she will be missed.
Really, really.
A lot.