I only ever knew one Grand Mother, with my Mother's, Mother dying in child birth eons before I was even thought of. This left me with "Peg" not that you could call her that, and most of me thinks it's disrespectful anyway to call an elder by their name, especially a nickname.
More to the point I've been feeling a bit under the weather and this somehow made me think of a nice cuppa and how Grandma made it, very light and sweet, I drink it this way to this day. I remember long afternoons in Keego trying to contain a small child's energy while my Grand Father and Father watched golf, and Grandma made Sunday dinner, no your weren't allowed in the kitchen unless you were a woman.
This then sent me thinking about what do I really remember other than factual data. The answer is, well not much. My Father had fantastical stories of her that I guess flushed her out as being a person to me. My Mother, who would be first to admit she was not Peg's favorite person, has since told me I was treated by Grandma with something akin to scorn or contempt.
I guess I will never know these things until we meet again. Oh and what do I remember for certain Grandma's hands, even when I was very young they appeared like Keith Richards hands, large beaten yet leathery smooth, you knew by looking they had seen long miles.