I dedicate this post to my Grandma, Margie Mae Alexander: August 9, 1928 – August 4, 2023.
I remember the morning she came running through the door. “Debbie, Debbie!”
Finding my Mom’s concerned face in the kitchen, she said, “Come quick, it’s Mesha.” Mesha was our golden retriever. “What?!” “Yes, her tail fell off.” By the time she and my Mom were in the living room, spotting our not tailless dog wagging its behind, my Grandma smiled and said, “April fools.”
Having my Grandma and Papa move in next door was magical. I can’t recall the exact date they built a house next to ours, but I remember loving running from the front door of my house into theirs in less than ten seconds.
Best known for her biscuits and gravy, I still remember my grandfather’s deep gaze and words, “You learn how to make this, boy.” I don’t know why, but every so often he called me boy.
And I did. With a yellow-lined notepad, I watched and wrote, from the amount of paprika to flour/milk thickening mixture.
Years ago, she gave me a cast iron pan that I’d eye every time at her house. That it cooked her signature gravy in it and had the special seasoning to it made it a magical utensil. When she finally gave it to me, I was in heaven.
I thought of her this morning as I mixed in half and half, paprika and cheese into the scrambled eggs. All ingredients I learned from her. The whisk I used, I realized, was also hers, and felt a strong sense of her presence. As I usually do when someone’s love fills me, I silently thanked her for everything she’d done and been for me.
It wasn’t until about an hour later I got a text message that she died.
I’m not sad. I know there’ll be moments for that, but for now, I’m so very appreciative.
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 