My Grandma was a firecracker. The life of the party. Just like my Dad. Which makes sense because she was his mother.
And yes, I named my dog after her. The Greek thought that was weird. But I told him I thought my Grandma would love it.
I think she was about 14 or 15 years old in this picture. I don't remember ever seeing it until last year. It made me laugh because I remember my Dad saying one time that my Grandma swore like a sailor.
I don't ever remember her swearing.
Now my Dad... I do remember frequent biblical references.
Anyways, I think it was probably true.
Ruby, was a wild child, from what I could gather.
She tried to pretend she was a saint later in life, but we all heard the stories.
I love my Grandma Ruby and her fire engine red painted toenails.
She was a strong woman, who worked hard all of her life.
I remember her telling me how much she loved math. She was once a book keeper at a gym. The woman could still skip rope in her seventies.
She made the best rolls, hotcakes, peach cobbler, apricot-pineapple jam, pear jam, potato salad, and eggs with deviled ham (not the kind from a can).
She survived cancer in her twenties that left her sterile. She had two children before that, but always talked about how she had wanted more.
I remember all my Dad's friends loved her. She was a mother to them as well as her grandchildren and great-grandchildren.
I loved going to stay with her at her house on the mountain that overlooked Lake Isabella. It was a magical place to me. And my Grandma Ruby made each stay a warm memory.
My sisters would all agree, waking up to the smell of bacon sizzling and coffee brewing and John Denver singing, "Grandma's Feather Bed" is one of our fondest childhood recollections.
My Grandma Ruby died when she was 90 years old. Dementia had taken over a lot of her sweet personality in the last 10 years of her life, maybe more. It was sad to see her like that.
I'm glad to know that she is herself again.