Nana

Yesterday my Nana turned 90. I feel tempted to write her life history right now. I want to look up dates and places. I want to get all the details right for posterity. But I don’t think this needs to be that post today.

Nana married Popop when she was a wee thing. It was 1950. She was 19. She told me that she didn’t know how to cook and that Popop taught her. I remember watching her humbly trying new recipes, making salads and casseroles, while Popop grilled meat.

She always had short hair. I never knew her with dark hair. It’s always been white to me. She has always played tennis and golf. Only during the past few years has she stopped playing. Her cholesterol or blood pressure meds have made it hard for her to walk. She will share the evils of side effects with anyone who will listen.

When Popop died, she was sad, but she also shared her excitement at living on her own for the first time ever. She and Popop treated living well as a moral imperative. Life is a gift. To act outside of that maxim is wrong. So she mourned her loss, while listing the opportunities and good things available to her going forward.

Since Covid19, we haven’t been able to visit her in her home. She doesn’t leave her residence either. We’re all worried about her, but her friends in her community have Bridge tournaments and birthday parties for one another.

She’s a good woman. She’s loving. And she’s strong. I hope I can grow up to be more like her.