It has been such a week. It seems every time I turn around I am handed more bad news. Last night I came home from church and went out to feed. When I came in, I could tell by my husband's face that there was more bad news. My mom had called while I was out. My grandmother died while they were at church. It was quick and unexpected. It seems she probably had a heart attack. Her husband died of a heart attack just after I was married and she has been widowed since. She was a good woman, though often sad and depressed. She lost a son over 60 years ago and never got over it. She missed her husband terribly. She was terrified that her father will be sentenced to Hell at the Judgment. She was appalled at the world around her and its neglect of God. She was passionate about her Lord and Savior. The memories I hold of her are mostly in the kitchen, either at her old home or the one she has lived in since Papaw died. I see her turn over the lids on the coal burning stove to see if it is ready for the cooking pot. I smell the strong soap she used for everything. I remember the circus peanuts in the cupboard, playing dominoes at the table, fabulous chocolate cake. She was always ready to feed you, even if she just ate and cleaned the kitchen. I always said she only ever cooked one meal, she had been adding to it ever since. She always had beans, bread, and applesauce, usually ham, and then, whatever cans she could open to add to it. I remember her garden, loose leaf lettuce salads with oil dressing, pansies around a tree, and constant worry. After I heard of her death last night, I thanked God that she is done worrying. May she be rejoicing with the angels in Heaven at viewing her Lord and Savior that she looked forward to meeting for so long.