When I was younger, every single Sunday after church my grandma made a massive Sunday meal. In the summertime it was fresh salads, yummy vegetables, and cobblers. During the winter it was soups, roasts, swedish meatballs and butter rolls. People would become my friend, just so I would invite them over to grandma’s after church. When I left for college, I’d call her and bring a car full of my friends home on the weekend. I came home to her house during college more than I went to mine. I felt safe at grandma’s house. She was the one that was always steadfast in my childhood. She was always there for me.

In the summer I would take runs to my grandma’s house a few streets away. I cheered competitively in high school and college. I’ve discovered I’m an Enneagram 3 which means I do nothing half way. So I ran a lot in the summers. I remember the path I ran so vividly. I took a left at the stop sign and ran between two houses a little down the road on the right the next street over. I’m not even sure we knew them, but they didn’t mind. I ran through the woods and passed a pasture. We lived in the country, so I’d have to run through a little creek before I’d make my way up the next hill. I’d come out at the bottom of her culdesac and I’d get to my grandma’s house soaking wet with sweat. And every time she’d have a tall glass of ice water sitting on her island for me.