Gifts Are Rarely Wrapped Items

We spent last weekend in Kansas celebrating my Grandpa's 80th birthday. It was a fantastic weekend (minus the part where I suffered from heat exhaustion and missed the party I'd spent 5 months helping plan) and I can't wait to do it again next year (again minus the sickness piece...for the love of God when hosting a party in Western Kansas in July, do so inside...). I'd forgotten how much I love spending time with the people who knew you before: before you moved everywhere, before you became "mom", before you became "wife", before you became "you". My favorite thing about my family is that they grow with you. They don't have this little version of you that they don't let go of: you won't always be a toddler to them, they remember when you were a toddler but it doesn't define you. In all of the hubbub of the weekend, I was given an amazing gift...

Thing 2 was playing the dirt as we were finishing up pictures like she does and I was walking past her just as my mom's uncle was also walking past her. I stopped to correct her, realized she was done with her pictures and that I didn't really have a reason for her to not get dirty, as she does so well. And so I opened my mouth, said her name, mumbled something about dirt, and then shut my mouth. My Great Uncle laughed and I explained how she's my Pig Pen child; if there is dirt, she will be in it. He laughed and then changed his face, lowered his tone and said with a serious face: "My mother was the same way. She was always out there in the dirt and loving it. She reminds me of her." And then he smiled and I was thankful that I had sunglasses on so he couldn't see the tears welling up. Because I'm a softy at heart.

My Great-Grandma Johnson was an amazing woman. She stood all of 4 feet tall (I'm sure she was at least 5 feet tall, but I'm not convinced). She had 4 children, 3 sons and a daughter who tragically died shortly after birth because of a heart defect. She lived with her in-laws on a farm in western Kansas. The woman deserved a medal for that--her in-laws were not the greatest of people. My Great Grandparents sold the farm and moved into town after my Great Grandfather had a heart attack and for as long as I can remember they lived in a little house in Lewis, KS. She painted amazing landscapes. She wrote poetry. She baked pies. Her and my Great Grandfather travelled to Colorado every year. The older she got the more her head shook just a tad and we for years attributed it to the raising of boys who pushed each other out of hay lofts and to their children who were also just as crazy. I remember she was always happy and she always loved us for us, even when we threw the rolls across the room at my Great Grandfather's funeral family meal. She was always strong and steady.

But what I remember most is that they hosted Thanksgiving for many many years in that little house. I can remember there being what I thought at the time was 100 people crammed into what felt like a 10ft x 10ft box (some years that number may have been more accurate than not, but I'm pretty sure it was more like 30 people in 1,000 sq feet...), but no one had a bad time. Everyone laughed and joked. The women were in the kitchen, well as many women as could fit in the kitchen were in the kitchen, Great Grandpa Johnson was in his chair in the living room and the men and children were everywhere else. She would call everyone to the table and there was always inappropriate humor, to include her discussing the whole Lorraine Bobbit incident while carving the turkey, explaining how that would never work in her house because she didn't have a sharp enough knife to the hysterical laughter of everyone. She was the originator of who we are today....

So to be told that my daughter reminds anyone of my Great-Grandma is a fantastic gift that I'll cherish forever.

Great Grandma Johnson in the garden at the farm during the early 60's?