As a young woman, Grandma worked at a bakery and she met a handsome dark-haired young man who admired her.  He used to stop by the bakery and bring her a sandwich.  Many years later I remember Grandma making cheese sandwiches wrapped in plastic wrap at Grandpa’s restaurant on a Sunday morning.   The Blue Laws in Canada meant that you couldn’t serve alcohol on Sunday without some food to go with it, so restaurant patrons could buy one of Grandma’s little cheese sandwiches to go with their beer.  In the den at their apartment, Grandma always had a big bowl of fruit for me and I always got into trouble for eating too many grapes before dinner.  Still later, when I was in college and used to spend spring break with Grandma and Grandpa – wherever they were, Florida, Palm Springs, Phoenix – Grandma ate cottage cheese on toast for breakfast every morning, sometimes with marmalade, and made me salmon patties at least once during my visits.  When I think of my Grandma, the first memories that come to mind are memories related to food and indeed, she was a great cook and while she didn’t teach me to cook, she did teach me the most important lesson in life - Grandma taught me about love. She told me many stories about her courtship with Grandpa and their younger years together.  Whenever Grandpa joined in on such conversations, it was clear how well matched they were, and how in love.  It’s not that she never got angry at Grandpa and I remember a few occasions where she raised her voice at him, but I always knew that beneath it all was a loving partnership.  My Grandma and Grandpa took love very seriously.  Grandpa was in the hospital and passed away just two days after Valentine’s Day in 1992, yet he made sure that Grandma got a valentine from him that year, just as every year before it.  

Grandma was a strong woman and not afraid to speak her mind.  She had no need to declare herself a feminist or a working mother or any title or label.  She knew her place in the world.  She loved her grandchildren dearly and we knew it.  She loved a glass of white wine, a good book, and bridge. We would howl with laughter as she told stories of when she drove an ambulance during Hurricane Hazel and how she would turn on the siren so that they could drive extra-fast.  We talked about many things, but the most important thing I remember is that she told me to marry for love.  She always reminded me that love was most important.  And now, as all the memories come flooding back and I struggle with the idea of soul and spirit and heaven, etc., I am at peace in knowing that Grandma is united once again with Grandpa, laughing, loving, cooking him dinner in heaven.