To all the 'Groovy Granny's' of the world...

I have have been blessed with not one, not two, but three Granny's in my lifetime.

My first Granny was Granny Byers, my mother's mother, who died when I was five. I don't remember much about Granny Byers. I remember thinking her funeral was boring, I can tell you that much (hey, I was five, gimme a break...) I wore velvet shoes to her wake. I remember she could remove bits of herself--her teeth and curly permed wig, for example. I remember she had a pet rock, and always put out pork rinds as a snack when we came to visit. I remember she had cat eye glasses and wore a lot of dresses, and when I envision her in my mind she is smiling, no doubt at a poke from my dad who was prone to razzing poor Granny Byers (that's her on the right.)

But what I lack in memories of Granny Byers we have made up for in what we call "Granny Byers-isms" which dot our family conversations and have carried on what I'm told was her unbelievably loving, giving spirit:

• "Your reward will come in heaven..."
• "I've been sh*t upon from great heights..."
• "I've got more of [insert something you have a lot of] than Carter has liver pills..." or alternatively, "I need another one of [insert something you have a lot of] like I need a whole in the head..."
• "Lord love a duck..."

I'm sure I've missed a few... Feel free to add to this list, mom and Beef...

My second Granny is Grandma, who is Dad's mom. Grandma is 91 this year and we spend dinner together every other week (she is blind as a bat but makes an amazing lasagna, and I would seriously roll someone for one of her peanut butter squares.) She reads/listens to more books than I can fathom. She stays current on politics and the economy and local events, emails me status updates on her tomato garden, forwards rude jokes, and has told me on more than one occasion "I can be a liberal, I can be Catholic, but for heaven's sake you cannot be an Argo's fan..."

Grandma is very much a rock in my life. She always has Kleenex shoved up her sleeve. She wears socks with pompoms on the backs of them. She has a funny way of answering her phone that sounds as though she's laughing, or maybe just really delighted to hear from you. Her hugs are legendary. She always smells of lilacs.

My third Granny is Granny Margie. Margie was my mom's older sister by seven years, and because I didn't know Granny Byers very well, some years ago Aunt Margie told Beef and I that she was our 'honorary Granny'. That was okay by me because Aunt Margie was (is) kick-@ss just like a Granny should be.

Granny Margie's house was shangri la as far as I was concerned. She has five children, who were all older than me and subsequently uninterested in playing when we arrived for our annual summer trek. But five kids = lots of really, really, really fun toys like Matchbox cars and the Game of Life and the ENTIRE Fisher Price Little People collection (the entire collection.... seriously, the house, the cottage, the car wash, the parking garage, the zoo, the circus, the Sesame Street set... everything). Granny Margie always let us pull it all out, provided we put it back when we were done. She was an unbelievable baker--she made her own donuts, always had cookies in the designated cookie jar, and her brownies were... unreal. There were bowls of candy all over her house. She had Kool Aid in her fridge for us, and she had a cellar in the basement full of Pop Shoppe.

The best part of Granny Margie, though, wasn't so much the stuff she gave us (which was always too much) but what she knew. She always wanted the low down--the skinny--on what we were doing, where we were going, who we were seeing, what we liked, what we didn't like, and she remembered it all. Every last word. When we got older Granny Margie started coming to us, and at every visit she'd sit at our kitchen table, glass of wine in hand, and ask you "so what's new with you..." and the next time we talked she'd make sure she ask "how did it go with [insert name/event here]?" She was genuinely interested in us. Orange I and visited Granny Margie last year on the August long weekend, just for the night, and even though she was on oxygen, fresh out of the hospital and feeling like poop, she insisted on driving us around town, taking us for lunch on the St. Lawrence, engaging us in her legendary "so tell me about yourself, Orange..." She listened. She cared.

Granny Marvie loved "bling". She loved her grand kids. She had unwavering faith. She had a laugh and a smile that was infectious and legendary. Granny Margie died peacefully late last week. And although she leaves a legacy in the goodness of her children and grandchildren, she has left me a very real Granny-sized void.