Grandma Farwell slipped quietly away from us into the night.

A quiet lady with a warm smile and soft eyes, she made me feel like I had been part of the family forever even when I was a new bride nearly 20 years ago.  I always treasured our visits to Wyoming--as newlyweds we would chat and dream on our drive, and then Grandma would greet us at the door as the aroma of fresh baked bread wafted out--Ron's favorite.  Later lunch would fill her little table.  I still remember her flavorful soups. She knew how to feed the soul.

As a young bride, I confided that I needed recipes.  She delivered.  As a matter of fact, when I learned that she had slipped away, I found myself reaching for my cookbook...for her handwriting...for the recipe cards from her kitchen.  Then I remembered the delightful stew she made for us a few days after Christmas in 2010.  Nothing made her happier than watching all her "grandkids" fill their bowls and listening to the banter around the table--even as her hearing was starting to fade.

Plus she was the wife of a miner (like me) with five children (well, I only have four).  She knew about unpredictable metal markets.  She knew about tramping from mine to mine.  She knew about grimy clothes and mucky lunchboxes.  She never complained, and I know her life was hard.  But she had a spunky spirit I admired.  She loved to laugh.  She had a great sense of humor that would sneak up on you--maybe even a bit like my husband's...as a matter of fact, that may be the source of his...

Many years ago grandma looked at me from her favorite rocking chair and told me that I should write.  She told me she loved my creative letters.  I remember my utter shock, and years later I remember daring to let my thoughts drift to writing...maybe the germination of the little seed she planted?  I am not sure I will ever bloom like her flowers and garden once did, but maybe it is time to explore the possibility.  

 I need to find my voice in memory of those who have loved me.