My Grandma

Norma Pinkerton, my Grandma, passed away this past week. December 6th, actually.

You know when people say someone is enchanting? Like, you know, in "You've Got Mail" everyone says Kathleen Kelly's mother was "enchanting". Well, so was my Grandma. She was enchanting. Lively, loving, tender, sweet, playful, happy. I'm not 100% sure what a "sing-song" voice is but It's how I would describe hers. She sang when she talked. When my grandparents would visit she would sing-say "Yoo-hoo!!" to announce their arrival. When she laughed she sounded like she was singing. Beautiful. She sang a lot actually, humming little tunes she made up, just being silly and fun. She would dance and shuffle and saunter into rooms humming like she was in a sweet little chorus line only she could see. It's one of the things I remember most about her.

I remember her hands. Her beautiful, beautiful hands. Dainty, perfectly manicured and extremely soft. Always gentle and slow, never quick and harsh. Always serving someone. Always smelling of some flowery lotion.

She loved flowers. I remember going to The Botanical Gardens with her. She took pictures of every flower there. She always had potted plants and flowers around the house. Especially Aloe Vera. Any time me or one of my sisters would trip and fall, scraping a hand or knee, she would snap off a piece of Aloe Vera and ("Doot doot doot!") daub it on our wound. Of course it would never hurt, nothing Grandma ever did would hurt.

My Grandma was a child at heart. She was never too busy to play with us. I remember it like it was yesterday. My sisters and me and sometimes my cousin, Candice, huddled under the desk in their den, or, rarely, in their immaculate front sitting room. My Grandma would come in and sit on the floor with her legs straight out in front of her, place her hands on the controls of our imaginative plane, start up the engines (which were her very girly sounding motor sounds) and fly us to Disney Land. She would bounce her knees and point out all of the Disney characters below us, waving and "sing-songing" hellos to each one. We would land and she would either oblige us with another trip or return to the adults, leaving us elated.

At Christmas, she was always in our corner, interrupting conversations and hurrying everyone through their coffee and dessert because she wanted to open presents for which us kids were eternally grateful.

Later, when she would see my boys she focused all of her attention on them and never seemed to tire of playing "pee pie" (Peek-a-boo) or doing whatever else would grab their attention. It worked, every time and they would watch her intently as long as she would entertain.

She loved unconditionally. She was sweet and feminine. She was.....enchanting.

Love you, Grandma.