Between my last post and this one my world stopped.

After church on August 16th, while washing her hands to make lunch, my Grandmother collapsed and never got up again.

Though she was 81, she was in excellent health and her death shocked us all.

I felt the same way I did when my father passed away five years ago – that the world has lost one of it’s greatest members and most people didn’t even know what they missed, and what I am missing so very very much.

This blog was the home page on my Grandmother’s computer. We always talked about it when we spoke on the phone or when she wrote. I only feel it appropriate to put down some of my memories of her in this space.

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Leota was a wife of 58 years, mother of two, grandmother to five, great grandmother to one, with another on the way.

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She was a home economics teacher, a part-time bookkeeper, a bridge player, a quilter, a needleworker, a cook, a collector of sterling silver napkins rings, and the consummate hostess.

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She was always stylish and had her hair done every Thursday. I though I got my red hair from her, until my mother told me she got it from a bottle.

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She was born in Missouri, but called it Missoura in a town named Isadora she called Isadori –

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that she took each grandchild to visit when they were twelve.

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She started life on a farm, but traveled the country
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and the world
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She had a succession of somewhat sad-looking Southern California Christmas trees
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and made fantastic feasts.

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She quilted each of us a blanket and stitched each of us a specifically chosen Christmas stocking.

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Mr. Cleaver’s was the last stocking she completed and our wedding quilt was the last quilt she finished. Her round robin quilting group was working on a biography quilt, when she passed away – the squares she made for her own quilt depicted the farm she lived on after she first got married and of the balloon ride she took over the African safari.  That’s my grandmother in a nutshell.

Oftentimes when someone dies, everyone scrambles to find a photos or an object to remind them of the one we lost, none of us had to scramble pieces of her handiwork were already there.

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I can’t believe she’s no longer with us, but at the same time, every time I pick up needles, or press a seam, she’ll be there.

I love you and I miss you very much – and if there’s internet in heaven, I know you’re still reading this blog.

(Thanks to Jen for the scans)

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