Grandmama's gravesite. Feb. 16, 2002

It was the simple things in life that Grandmama enjoyed the most.

I can see her now, sitting in her recliner chair, looking out the window at the birdfeeder, watching the birds.

I can hear her now, telling a joke -- sometimes telling it two or three times in a row.

I can picture her now, laughing over all the toys people had given her. Whether it was the dancing Santa, the singing Christmas tree, a music box, or the clock that played bird songs on the hour, she loved them all.

It was the simple things she enjoyed, like cooking. Now who among us would treat a trip to the grocery store as anything but a chore. But for her, it was an adventure--wandering down the aisles looking for just the right ingredients for her pound cakes, or the seemingly endless jars of Red Pepper jelly, or the neverending supply of buttermilk biscuits she always had on hand. All you had to do was drop by and mention that you'd love a piece of cake, some jelly, or a biscuit and if you weren't careful, you'd go home with a pound cake in one hand and a bag of biscuits in the other.

It was the simple things in life that mattered, like making blankets for little children who were sick and in the hospital. Her hands were always busy, crocheting blankets for Project Linus. Whenever I asked her how many she'd made, Grandmama always gave the same answer: "Oh, about 42." Actually, it was more than 500, and even in the hospital, her hands were still going, as if she were trying to finish up just one more blanket.

But of all the simple things in life she loved, the most important was her family. I can see her now, on any given Sunday after church, regaling us all with tales of Mammie, and Froggy Went A Courtin', and what it was like growing up in rural Fuquay Varina with her brothers and sisters so long ago. We'd stop by to visit, and she'd point out the birds in the bird feeder, bring out her newest toy, share a joke, feed us some pound cake and coffee, show us her latest blanket, and we'd all laugh and eat and share as if those Sundays would go on forever.

In many ways this is a sad day. We miss Grandmama today, and we will miss her for all of the tomorrows to come. But sometime soon we will gather together again to eat and tell stories and share jokes. Somebody will pull out a toy that shimmies and shakes and makes funny noises. We'll laugh, and when we do, that's how we'll know she's right there.

--Written for Grandmama's funeral service