She was a woman of faith and entirely martyrial in carrying her grief. My grandmother was a delicate woman with her embroidery, lace-making, crocheting of quilts, and the constant knitting of winter mittens for all children in the church’s congregation.
Underlying her endearing delicacy was a woman who kept a household of five running throughout the Depression and WWII. There were no amenities in their home. All laundry was done by hand. All bread was pummeled and baked daily before the family woke up in the morning. Once the loaf was out of the oven, she would put on her gloves, hat and coat and walk to the church for early morning mass.
(This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.)
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