Annah’s girl

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The memories of my grandma Mary are all good ones.  She was the kind of Grandma who let you get into all her stuff and act as if it’s your own.  She played with us, read to us, danced and sang with us.  She was one of the true gifts of my childhood.
A few weeks ago, Cory and I spent hours in the kitchen blanching, peeling, slicing and packing peaches in Mary Pentello’s memory.  I followed along to the same steps she had referenced many years ago in her own cookbook.  No doubt, things have markedly changed since she stood at her kitchen counter, and I can’t remember my Grandpa Roger pitching in to boil lids or cold pack a peach.  However, she loved doing it and loved sharing them.  The rows of peaches we now, temporarily, have on our dining room table signify the little things in life that might have a big impact on a family.
I see myself and Mary in my mom and Lily.  Don’t get me wrong, all three of our children are close to her, and for good reason, but Lily has an affinity for her “Annah” that verges on idyllic worship.
When my Grandma Mary passed I was in the seventh grade and completely caught off guard.  I lost my buddy, my safe harbor who made all things fun, all the moments meaningful.  Now, I feel reminded of that love every time I see my mom with our children.  Their relationship with her is constant, solid and the memories they have made so far will carry them throughout their lifetimes.  She takes time for them and, usually let’s them do a thing or two that I might balk at–she is exactly the notion of what a grandma is meant to be.  I hope they always carry her with them as I carry my Grandma Mary with me.

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