She sat in the corner by the bar that divided the kitchen from the living area at my Meme's house. That's where she always sat. The dress I remember her wearing often was a plain, straight, knee-length dress with vertical multi-colored stripes.  We great grandkids would line up to give her a hug after she drove up in her old blue sedan and then we'd scat, lest she get on to us about something. 

My (Great) Grandmother was a tough old bird. When expecting a baby she'd let you know if she didn't like the name you had picked out, just as she'd let you know if she didn't care for your hairstyle. She wasn't one of those doting grandmas who went on and on about how cute you were and how much you'd grown. 

We avoided her at Sunday lunch when we got our plate. She was a hard-nosed inspector. If you didn't have some type of greens on your plate (pickles didn't count), you were sent back to fix such a grave error. She made the best homemade rolls, but she felt you shouldn't be able to enjoy the rolls if you weren't eating your vegetables.  

A pretty agreeable kid, I was spanked less than a handful of times in my life. One my spankings came from Grandmother. 

When we were old enough to bring friends and boyfriends to my Meme's house we'd warn them of her straightforward nature. 

She died shortly after she turned ninety. While being hospitalized for a broken hip, she was diagnosed with leukemia and never was able to return home. 

So simple she was to me, like the striped dress she wore.  She lived in a tiny house and was known in my childhood for the rules that she had. She meant what she said and she always said what she meant. 

It was after her passing that her faceted life began to weave its worth in me. I began to better understand who she was. And she was more colorful than I could have imagined. 

As a child her parents divorced. Her parents decided to split the four kids. Half the family would stay in California and the other half would travel back to Texas. Her mother, who was allowed to choose two children,  didn't pick her... the only girl. I learned the hurt that she carried through her life for her mom's decision. She both became a Christian and earned her GED at a late age in life. She helped adults become literate using the Bible. 

Tomorrow is Valentine's Day, and for some reason I can't stop thinking about her. 

She was steady and she was dependable,  like that old blue car she drove. We knew where to find her on Sundays at my Meme's and we knew, in certain terms, what she'd say. 

Though her words were serious in nature (and lacked a warm, fuzzy feeling), she was trustworthy and was the embodiment of truth. 

She made us eat our vegetables before the homemade rolls. She wanted us to be whole and well more than she was concerned with  our momentary happiness. 

She had stories to tell, but never imposed them upon us. Instead, her life's contents (like a treasure chest), have slowly been discovered through the years. And oh what value lies therein. 

I don't know who you're celebrating for Valentine's Day. Hopefully it's a list of people who have touched your life. I hope you include someone who loves you deeply. I hope you celebrate someone whose exterior doesn't sufficiently explain the beauty of who they are. 

I hope you have someone who loves you so much they make you eat your greens. If you do,  I hope you understand just how lucky you are to have someone like that. And I hope you tell them.