Grandma Helen February 25, 1905 - November 23, 2006

Rigel got a call during Thanksgiving dinner that his grandmother had died. My girls called her Grandma Helen, and she would be turning 102 this February.

She had only recently become ill, and even though her condition was serious we thought there was a good chance she would surprise us and pull through. Up until a few months ago she had lived on her own in a small house in Wisconsin where she cooked for herself, tended her garden and even occasionally looked in on her elderly, though younger neighbors. We were concerned about her living alone, especially when we heard stories like the one she told last summer, about locking herself out of her house. Not to worry, she said, since it all worked out after an elderly neighbor forced open a small window and then gave Grandma a boost so she could crawl through, head first.

She loved to fish and would do so regularly until she gave up her fishing license a few years ago. At 97-years-old she felt it was time to exercise a little caution and stop going out alone on her small fishing boat - leave that to those young 80-year-old whippersnappers she often passed out on the river. Giving up her beloved fishing was hard, though, especially since she had given up her hunting license a few years prior to that. I think you're starting to get the picture, that Grandma Helen was not just some little old lady in a bonnet sitting in a rocking chair and sipping tea.

The last time we saw her was in February. As she had done almost every year, she got on a plane and flew on her own to California to visit with her son (Rigel's dad) and the rest of us, including Rigel's sister, Aldebaran. Usually each visit was preceded by a call sometime in November, that she had decided not to come out, that she hoped we understood how after a woman hits ninety it's entirely possible that she might not want to leave her home in the bitter cold and travel for an hour just to board a plane for a four-hour flight. After waiting a few weeks to see if we would get the hint that perhaps the younger and more able-bodied among us might consider hauling our lazy asses out to visit her, she would give up and book a flight to L.A. Rigel always imagined that during his phone calls to Grandma she would cover the receiver and turn to her friends and say, "Yeah, it's that yuppie grandson of mine. Looks like Mr. Hollywood still hasn't figured out how to buy a plane ticket."

We were constantly amazed at Grandma's memory. She could rattle off recipes down to the teaspoon, recount historical events with amazing accuracy and was an encyclopedia on plants and vegetables. She would tell stories of her first train ride out to California, 50+ years ago, to visit Rigel's dad. She remembered what the weather was like, how she got from the train station to his apartment, and remarkably, his apartment number. This always amazed me, as I would be hard pressed to remember what the weather was like last week and often forget what my current address is.

Grandma Helen had a wicked sense of humor, and one of our favorite stories is about the time we were opening presents on Christmas a few years ago. Rigel's sister had given me a set of small, oval-shaped pot holders, the kind that fit snugly over the handle of a sauce pan. "What the hell are those?" Grandma asked. When I told her what they were, she replied, "Good gracious! I thought they were peter-heaters!" I don't know many people who can say that their husband's grandmother introduced them to the concept of a penile-warming device.

We always wondered what the key was to Grandma's vibrant life. Was it the crossword puzzles that she loved and did daily? Was it the whisky highball she had every single afternoon? When Rigel's sister asked her what she felt was the real secret to her longevity Grandma replied, without missing a beat, "I never learned how to drive."

We're going to miss you, Grandma Helen.

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