I interviewed my grandma in 1991 during one of her last visits up from Florida. She was 91.
I wanted to record as much family history as she could remember so one evening, after my 1 year old was tucked in bed, I made us each a cup of tea and got out my notepad.
For the next hour I coaxed as much info out of her as her stamina and memory would allow. So much tender, loving effort on her part, and mine, and I no longer have the notes. I’ve forgotten the names and the dates and the places, but a few of her stories made a permanent impression.
One such story came to mind this morning as I was folding freshly laundered sheets and blankets – wet in the night by my elderly – and, I fear, newly incontinent dog, Max.
Standing in my kitchen – now doubling as a dog hospital – folding bedding, I thought of Christian Attridge and his wife, wish I could remember her name. I’ll call her Anna.
When Christian was courting Anna he led her to believe he was a veterinarian. He wasn’t, he was a vet tech.
After they were married and she learned the truth, she exclaimed, “Oh no you don’t! You told me you were a veterinarian and you are GOING to be a veterinarian!”
So he went back to school.
Apparently strong women run in my family.
And so does taking care of sick animals. Though I think horses were my great grandpa’s specialty.