Last Saturday was my grandmother’s birthday. If you have ever spent any time with me, you have probably heard about my grandmother because she features in some pretty good anecdotes – like the time she shot a deer out the back window (possibly out of season) and had it field dressed by the time my grandpa got home from work, or the time she and Aunt Pat got jobs at the chicken processing plant and only made it to the morning coffee break on their first day before deciding to quit.

My grandma hasn’t always had smooth sailing in her life. She grew up during the Great Depression, in a tiny East Texas town where life was probably pretty difficult even without a worldwide economic downturn. She’s lost plenty of loved ones – though, by the time you get to 87, that must be par for the course. She didn’t graduate from high school and never got a driver’s licence – so why is she so unstoppable? She can do anything. She’s made me dresses and costumes and play clothes and taught me to sew. She can cook catfish, chicken livers and pork chops (she’s even fed me squirrel – and yes, it tastes like chicken) and bakes a cheesecake so rich and dense that it will stop your heart dead in its tracks. She is very good at Forty-Two and Scattergories (among other games), but won’t quit until she’s ahead. She can reupholster furniture. She made one of my favourite “toys” when I was little by nailing 1x4 boards between two trees to form a ladder that I climbed up and down, over and over and over again. She made most of the curtains for every apartment I’ve ever had. She hates snakes and at ever opportunity chops them to bits with a garden hoe. She once made a couch.

This is my favourite photo of my grandma, taken in the early 1920s. She is the little girl on the right, standing in a creek and grinning. The expression on her sister’s face (can I actually call such a small girl “Aunt Sis”?) suggests that the water is plenty cold, but I can almost see the little person who would one day be my grandmother wiggling with delight.

I’ve actually been working on this post since last week, but haven’t been able to work on it during the workday. Normally, if I have a few free minutes, I’ll type a bit and e-mail it to myself at home for later posting, but every time I tried to think about my grandma, how I really feel about her and what she means to me, I got very emotional and teary-eyed. Not a good look at work. Grandma would probably say not to cry, just concentrate on our happy memories together, but all those warm, fuzzy, happy and loving thoughts are exactly what keep getting me so emotional! But I’m sure I’ll manage…

My grandma’s philosophy is that, in life, if the door is locked, she’ll go through the window. I’m sure that at some point in her life, she has literally done just that.

She is my hero.