Happy Belated Birthday, Gram!

While lazing in the Central Park sun on Saturday, I turned to my friend Heather and sighed, "Can you believe it's already August 12th?" And as soon as the date came out of my mouth, I remembered: it was my paternal Grandmother's birthday.

August 12th is, coincidentally, the date that both my grandmothers were born, so I've never had trouble remembering. My mom's mom passed away eight years ago, though, so I don't buy birthday cards in pairs anymore. Let's be honest - I didn't buy a birthday card at all this year, which I really have to apologize for, because in 30 years I don't think that Grammy and Papa have ever missed one of mine. And I love receiving their cards because so often they are handwritten in better penmanship than my own, colorfully articulating everything from the flowers in bloom to the birds at the feeder to the blueberry pie they ate for dessert. Because my Grammy is a genius with both blueberries and pies, you can be assured there is always plenty to read about.

Growing up, I spent a week every summer at their house in Prince Edward Island, Canada. It was - and still is - a beautiful old house situated on sprawling lakefront property, but I dreaded the trips. For one, it took about 14 hours just to get there, and once I got there, I was convinced that the house was haunted. I haven't been back since I was 12, in part because I'm still not convinced that it isn't.

For every night that I would lay awake, gripped by my fear of the dark, though, I would wake in the morning to the brightest, most cheerful breakfast. Among her other specialties, Grammy has been known for making homemade doughnuts - the naturally-sweet, old-fashioned kind that don't need any frosting or Dunkin'-like accoutrements to melt in your mouth. I would wake up to the smell of the doughnuts baking (or frying? maybe...) and think how silly I was to have been scared the night before. Because in that first waking moment of the day, with the morning light shining through the open window and the smell of fresh baked sweetness wafting up from the kitchen, I couldn't have possibly felt any safer.

Here's hoping Gram's 84th birthday is just as sweet and safe.

Love,
Lori