27
Apr
2017

One of the most vivid memories I have of my late grandmother is from an event posthumously honoring my grandfather.  (A side note: my grandfather refused awards of any kind.  He preferred to work behind the scenes and adhered to a philosophy of not drawing attention to his good works.)  I do not even remember what the honor was for!

At the time, my grandmother was in her mid-80s and had been unable to walk for many years.  Usually, when I visited, she was in her bed, but with a pretty bed jacket of some sort. She always had on make up and her hair done.

For this particular event, she had dressed in a cream linen suit with ivory lace and beading on the jacket sleeves and on the front neckline.  It was a gorgeous suit.  Her hair was done, and her eyes were gleaming.  I remember, someone had helped her situate herself in a very regal, velvet-backed chair at one area of the room, not right by the door.  A tremendously long line of people were waiting to greet her, one at a time.  These were the captains of the city and state, for my granddad had been involved with politics and politicians, as well as his law practice.  Each waited his or her turn to see my grandmother, kneeling to speak with her in time.  She was absolutely glowing that day.   Her bright blue eyes were filled with laughter from social events long past.  Her hair was the whitest of white, platinum almost.

If I can remember an 85 year old woman as beautiful, why can I not see it in myself at any age?