The Zog Blog

Grammie Lo-Lo has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. I spent a huge part of my childhood in her warm, clean house–being read to, then reading to myself, playing Legos and dress-up, running wild in her back yard. I am like her in many ways, and we always got along very well. We shared a love for all things orderly and clean, for tasks completed well, for baking, for crafting, for keeping a house running smoothly.

To an impressionable young grand-daughter, she was almost more force-of-nature than woman. She ran her house and her life (and yours too, when you were there) efficiently and smoothly. She could do anything, from paper dolls to a magazine-worthy set of gardens to perfect grilled-cheese triangles with tomato soup to flawless stuffed animals with movable heads and limbs. On precious few resources she raised three children, helped care for and raise six grandchildren, and lived to enjoy eight great-grandchildren.

She was one of several role models in my life of strong, independent women. She knew what she thought, wasn’t afraid to say it (tactfully, of course, as we must maintain decorum), and encouraged me to develop my own opinions on things. She was always happy to listen while I worked out some problem or another, sitting me down at the bar in her kitchen and giving me milk and cookies while I talked. As I got older, my problems and interests varied, but she was always there. I’d keep her company in her garden, in her sewing room, around the dinner table. In high school, with more activities than anyone could keep up with, I’d often spend part of an afternoon or dinner-time at her house (five minutes away from the school). I felt as comfortable there, with its wooden floors and cabinets and hand-braided rugs, as I did at home. (More comfortable sometimes, to be perfectly honest, because it lacked my brother and his noise.)

We kept close through my many moves–to California for college, back to Maine for a few months, to several places in Massachusetts, and even this last move (though she was so sick by then that I’m not sure what she really grasped). She helped me tremendously after mom’s death, a dark time I barely remember now. Later, we made my wedding veil together, and when I got pregnant with Jacob she talked me through all of the worries and joys an expecting mother goes through. She even remembered and shared a few things about my mother’s pregnancies, and those times with her are worth more to me than gold.

I know that to some people, she was a difficult woman. I’m not sure she really enjoyed humor, and she could be quite stern and opinionated, but I loved that about her like everything else. To me, she was a constant and indestructible and very loving grandmother. I was very lucky to have so long with her, and I will miss her greatly.

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