A year ago when Grandma fell and ended up in the hospital with a broken ankle, our entire family worried – she was 91 and even though she was more active than any other 91-year-olds I knew, she was no spring chicken.
I don’t think we needed to worry.
When we visited last, Grandma was dancing.
But that 92-year-old woman was *shimmying*. I kid you not.
I mean it when I say: Grandma’s awesome.
One of these days (recurring phrase for me) I’m going to take my laptop and a scanner to Grandma’s house and scan in all the photos she’s got around.
Some of the people, I don’t:
Grandma with her sisters, sometime in the 70’s. Grandma is second from the right, and I’m ashamed that I don’t know *any* of my great aunts’ names. “One of these days, I’m going to make Mom or Grandma write them down for me. I don’t want to lose these peoples’ identities. I don’t think they would want to be lost.
‘Most all of the women in my family have the same hands. The last time I visited Kaitlyn and her family in Lawrence, her mom and I were able to show her what her hands will look like when she’s grownup. (I think it made her cry)
Grandma frequently tells me that my hands look just like hers used to.
Mom tells me the same thing.
“One of these days” I’m going to take a picture of Grandma’s hands. That’ll probably annoy her, though. But I just want it – for posterity, so when I’m 92 I can compare mine to Grandma’s, and I can show my own granddaughter how my hands looked now and then, and how hers will look someday.
But that’s not where the resemblance ends.
I mean, just look!
I think there’s a motto to be found in the above picture. How ’bout…
Johnson women: As our boobs droop with age, so do our smiles.