~ Evelyn R. VanDusen

  My grandmother was a very special person.  She taught high school, she drove school bus, she tended a farm, and most important of all... she raised a family.  She had five kids, four girls and one boy.  The only son was at one time a racecar driver.  He was killed one night while working in the garage he owned.  I'm not sure exactly what happened, but I know that the garage exploded with him, and one of his co-workers inside.  The youngest daughter, grew up to be my mother. I'm very happy that she was born.  It wasn't supposed to be.  My grandmother had been told that she had gone through the "life change." So my grandfater and her stopped "being careful."  This resulted in my mother being born nine months later.  My mother always said that she didn't have one mother, she had four.  This was because there is almost thirty years difference between my mother and her next youngest sister.  Anyway, enough of that! Back to my grandmother.
  I always picked that she was a grandmother straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting. She always looked perfect, no matter what she did, and she always had fresh baked cookies ready for any of her kin that might decide to stop by. With my prim and proper grandmother, I have seen her painting a barn and still be dressed in what most of us would consider our "Sunday Best."  But this never stopped her from getting on the ground and playing with her grandchildren.  I can remember her getting in the dirt with me and playing. I don't think I once saw her with anything out of place or not look perfect. (Kinda reminds me of Mary Poppins, sort of.)  But most of all I can remember going to her house and spending the night.  On one particular time when my family had went on a trip with the Boy Scouts, that my father was a troop leader of and my brother a member, I had to go to a Nifty-Fifty meeting with my grandmother.  At the time I didn't know if I really wanted to go or not, but I had no choice. It turned out to be extreamly fun. I think mainly because I got to see my grandmother in a new light.  She was no longer my grandmother, she was a normal person. I also got to hear her stories about her past adventures and what thinigs were like when she was a kid. I learned more about history from her, than I ever did from any book or history class. After that time, when ever I had a chance to go with her to a meeting I took it! Of course I had to be off from school or something like that, but do I miss those days when I would get to go with my grandmother to Nifty-Fifty.
  Another thing that I remeber about my grand mother was how active she was. Even though she was 87 years old, she still went to every meeting of her "groups" that she could. My grandmother was the only one that I ever met that you had to check her calandar to know when a good time to visit was.  Right up until almost the day she died, she still went to all of her "groups." I only wish that when I'm that old, I too can be that active, and age defying.
  I love my grandmother for everything she has done, but most importantly for who she was and all of the lives that she has touched. She is greatly missed!

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