My Grandmother had the softest hands. But they weren’t dainty or small. She had strong, capable, soft hands. The way she would wield a pencil to tackle the daily crossword was fantastic. Ferociously erasing a letter or word when it didn’t fit the other answers. She always finished the puzzle though–she was a very smart lady.

When I was younger and would sit next to her on the couch, she would occasionally brush her fingers through my hair, around my ear, repeatedly so as to quietly lull me. A little human contact goes a very long way. Not a day goes by that I don’t miss her, and sometimes it slams into my emotional core and I break down crying. Aching with the space she left in my heart, wishing for nothing more than to have her run her fingers through my hair, with her soft, strong hands.

I can see her as she would unwrap a piece of hard candy and place it in her mouth. On her tongue really, like a frog stealing a fly, it would stick out and lick onto the candy like a wet tongue on a frozen pole and suck it into her mouth. She is the reason I will never turn down a butterscotch candy.

Don’t forget the celery. The woman ate it like it was going out of style. With cheese in the middle (if you can call what that was cheese…and no, you can’t) or peanut butter-also one of the greatest, simplest snacks ever. I can picture her cutting it into long pieces, filling it and then using her thumb and fore finger to pick it up and take a big bite. The way her lips closed around it and she twisted and chewed until the piece broke off for her to chew. Sometimes she’d be wearing lipstick, and dark pink/mauvey color and that against the celery green was  beautiful. I get my crunch addiction from her, I know it. Celery, chips, candy, nuts…..oh man did she LOVE nuts, especially chocolate bridge mix. Nuts covered in chocolate? Yes Please. I mean, she’s the reason Kettle chips and I have a love/hate relationship. Oh and don’t get me started on eating ice cubes.

Today a Hallmark commercial made me think of my Grandmother, and I started to cry, and mean BALL MY EYES out. I can only take that to mean she’s trying to tell me something. That I think of her more loudly when I’m supposed to figure something out in my life. All I seem to figure out though is the way I miss her, and how she would do certain things that shaped who I am. I suppose that’s not a bad thing after all.