My grandmother had a huge tent party in her backyard when I was 3 or 4 years old. I don't recall the occasion or the guest of honor, although it was probably Gram herself, as she never shied away from throwing herself a party.
But I do remember trying unsuccessfully to shimmy up the tent's supporting poles with three of my cousins. Our hands kept slipping until one of us recalled the trick Olympic gymnasts use to grip the uneven bars. Chalk.
Of course, we didn't have access to any gymnast chalk, but there was always a container of scented face powder on the back of Gram's toilet that likely would have the same effect.
It did. And it sent clouds of perfumed powder into the backyard until Gram realized what had happened.
She was only mildly amused, but we were immediately fashion jewelry wholesale forgiven for the mess both in the yard and the bathroom.
Gram didn't "do" messes. She was meticulous in life, and in death, which occurred Wednesday afternoon.
Catherine Donnelly Bolen died in her sleep at the age of 99, and no one was ever more prepared.
She had written her own obituary about six years ago. She knew what clothing she would wear to greet St. Peter, and she had the funeral Mass planned to the letter, although she likely muttered under her breath while considering the individual shortcomings of each parish priest.
Gram was ready to be reunited with her husband, my Pop, and all the other friends and family members who had made it to the Pearly Gates first. Of course, she probably headed off immediately to get her hair done before joining some heavenly bridge group.
But my Gram wasn't the typical golf, bridge, church type of lady. Of course, she enjoyed them all.
She was only 5 feet tall, but feisty and opinionated. She had cocktails every afternoon with my parents always accompanied by a snack. She carried a tiny walking stick with a ladybug handle, and she drove her electric wheelchair at dangerous speeds until an unfortunate mishap with a bench.
She had the largest fashion jewelry cabinet a young girl had ever seen, and she never flinched when that tiny girl adorned herself with every bead and bauble it contained.
She waited until her late 20s to marry the man of her dreams. Such a long wait was unheard of in her generation, and she privately reassured her youngest granddaughter that being single at age 30 was not only OK, but a badge of honor and a sign of independence and strength.
And when I introduced her to the man of my dreams a few years ago, she nodded knowingly and smiled approvingly.
Gram kept her own house in perfect order until her mid90s, when she finally asked my parents if she could move across the street and live with them. They didn't hesitate to welcome her and her unrelenting schedule into our house.
She bought her own computer at age 91 and corresponded via email with her nine grandchildren.
She protested vehemently when I playfully called her "old lady," but always pressed a secret 40 bucks into my hand when I waltzed through the kitchen.
She loved the slot machines in Atlantic City. She loved her afternoon cocktails and early dinners at the Crab Trap. She loved dessert after dinner, and taught each grandchild how to build the perfect ice cream, hot fudge and butterscotch parfait using the "fancy" glasses in the back of her cabinet and the long, twisted spoons.