After yesterday’s post, one of my friends commented about the resemblance between my mother and myself. When I was younger, I would not have considered that a compliment though over the years, I’ve realized how true it is … and I’m honored.

Today, I thought an appropriate follow-up to yesterday’s post would be a few words about my mom’s mother. (Photo at right shows my seventeen-year-old mom standing with her mother on graduation day.) Unfortunately, I didn’t get to know Marion Ruth (Hoyer) West because she died before my second birthday. Although many of the women in her family lived into their eighties and nineties, Marion was a mere sixty years old when she died.

When I look at pictures of my grandmother, I’m often reminded of my mom’s facial expressions reflected in Grandma’s face. Today’s poem is something of a summary of her life:  born in 1890, she was nearly thirty when she married, her first child died in infancy and her husband died after less than thirteen years of marriage. (I suppose there would be a great deal of truth in granting that my mother probably learned her lemonade-making skills from her mother.)

The sweetest part of Grandma’s story (for me) is their wedding day. Proving their off-beat sense of humor, this couple decided to be married at their church’s annual Halloween party. No one besides the pastor and his wife knew about the wedding, so all their friends came to the party dressed in various and appropriate Halloween costumes. Of course, when Grandma and Grandpa arrived in a wedding dress and a tuxedo, everyone believed these were costumes. It was not until the pastor’s wife sat down at the piano and started playing The Wedding March that everyone realized something more than a Halloween party was taking place!

Recognizing another day of National Poetry Month, I give you my Ode To Grandma.