A Sad Attempt at a Eulogy for my Grandma

I can't even be close to concise, eloquent and thorough in this brief blog where I'm borrowing internet at a Panera at the cost of one small cup of coffee and a chocolate chip 'muffie' for the Little Guy. This is my sad attempt at combining sorrow, brevity and profundity. Underline the word sad- twice.

What can I say about my only Grandparent that will sum up the 35 years of memories, sadness, and even a strange elation for her that she gets to see those who've gone before her and her pain is gone?
My Grandma (Gram to her family) was so loved. She was cantankerous with a gentle voice. She was vain without being obnoxious or even annoying. She whined when she needed to and often guilted when she thought it was necessary. She was silly and sweet, and giving to those she loved. And there were many of us that she loved. She worked hard to save so she'd have something to leave her family and have a nice funeral.
If you weren't family then you had to prove yourself trustworthy first which was a bit more daunting for those people who were romantically linked to her loved ones.

Reading over this it just seems like a lame list of vague personality traits. It doesn't show you the drawers stuffed full of every scrap and scribble of memento she'd ever received from a child or a grandchild. You don't see the pantry chock full of outdated food that no one could throw away because, "It's still perfectly good and we might need it someday." You haven't heard the chuckle in my mother's voice as she tells the story of the time my Grandma killed a groundhog that had gotten in the chicken coop and served it proudly for dinner. Even though no one thought it was tasty my Grandma gobbled it down with proud glee having both solved a pest problem and procured a free dinner for her family.
A child of the depression my Grandma was ever thrifty and resourceful. I loved to listen to her talk about making jelly out of watermelon rind and turning trash into food. I loved that she occasionally drank her Sanka out of a bowl instead of a cup and that she would make me hot chocolate on the stove with real milk that sometimes developed a slimy skin on the top. To this day I prefer my chocolate milk with a slightly scalded taste and I relish the memories of my burned tongue as I could not wait until it cooled to drink it.

Now that we are facing such scary economic times I know I will miss being able to pick her brain for ideas. I will miss the sight of her folded crochet project set in the corner by her rocking chair. I know I will have a thousand questions to ask her in the next few years. I know that there will be times when I slip and forget that she's gone and remembering will be a small shock. I will miss her- so much.