for homemade pizza and Lawrence Welk on Saturday nights.
for sneaking us squirt guns.
for using a warm washrag to wash dinner off my face.
for every new dress hung for me on the sewing room door.
for pulling out tap shoes and the accordion in the kitchen.
for teaching me to find something to compliment about every garage sale customer.
for graham crackers dipped in whole milk before bed.
for endless games of Chinese Checkers.
for giving me a fun report card on my sewing lessons.
for the bowl of cut-up fruit you always had on the kitchen table.
for teaching me to put a touch of “The Ritz” on everything.
for hosting the search and rescue for my hamster in your house.
for the new robe every Christmas.
for showing me how to tell God thank you for every single good thing that happens in a day. A
parking spot. A squirrel in the tree. A word from a stranger. You disciplined me to thank God for everything, and this from a woman who survived the depression, survived being left by a
husband, survived caring for and losing a second husband, survived poverty. You could have been a bitter, angry old lady, but you chose a soul of gratitude instead. Thank you.