I am continually in awe of my four grandparents.  One, the daughter of an immigrant, fluent in two languages and baker of the world's best pies.  Another, a Lieutenant Colonel in the US Army and veteran of World War II and Korea.  A flapper and feminist who could play a mean game of bridge and swim with the best of them.  And finally, a railroad engineer who served as an Air Raid neighborhood coordinator during World War II and who enjoyed his golden years by even competing in Pro-Am golf tournaments.  What remarkable lives they all lived.

I know their stories, thankfully because I met each of them in this life, but mostly through the stories told to me by my parents. The legacy for me is that I'm so proud of my two parents and the lives they've led. What a blessing that they both felt the same about their own parents. No, none of these people were perfect, not even close. But they were very human, very involved in the causes of the day and each left an indelible mark on their families and communities.

Last year, my grandmother's youngest sibling died. I went to Uncle Tom's funeral.  He and his wife Alice are so loved. Both of my parents were there, along with my mother's only sister. While sitting on the front porch of Uncle Tom's country home after the service, we began talking about her parents.  Grandaddy and Grandmother (sometimes Grandma) as I called them, were both characters. With a firm belief in faith, country and family, we began talking about the more human parts of my grandfather's nature.  Sipping on our cool drinks, I asked, "What was Grandaddy's favorite drink?"  She smiled and IMMEDIATELY reported, "Chivas Regal 18 Gold Signature".  On the rocks. I could so see him drinking an 18 year old scotch, at the officer's club in his pressed military uniform. My aunt added that after my grandfather died, every once in a while, my grandmother would have a Chivas Regal (with water) in his honor. It made me smile. So I asked what my grandmother would drink on these occasions, and again she didn't hesitate.  She loved Stingers.  Brandy with white creme de menthe shaken with ice, and strained into a fancy cocktail glass. I thought of her straight dresses, hitting right below the knee with her stockings rolled down and the Charleston or something playing the background. A cigarette in her hand.  She had the most beautiful manicured nails. How lovely that drink would look. Very cool, indeed.

This little discussion oddly, somehow made me feel closer to them.  I miss them like crazy. Can you imagine the stories they could tell me for this project? The era of prohibition and speakeasies to panthers, disease and heat from my grandfather's stint in the China/Burma/India front? 

I then headed off the porch in search of my dad. He was where I exactly thought I'd find him - back by the horse barn. We began talking about his parents, and I asked the same question about his father.  Dad smiled, and didn't even blink when reporting, "a good bourbon - or maybe a good beer on occasion". Not surprising for a suave gentleman from southeast Ohio.  My grandfather Chic (I called him Chester), had an ornery streak - all of his brothers did - and I remembered the keg always present at their family reunions.  And my grandmother? Dad grinned and said, "gin of course!"  Bathtub gin, I wondered? I mean, Dad was born when Prohibition was still the rule. Made me wonder at the parties they must've attended back then.  They were so handsome - a beautiful couple really. I can still feel both of their hands. I held them a lot. 

I will add more stories about their remarkable lives later. But for now, how many people can say they know all of their grandparents' favorite drinks? I promise to have one of each before the year is out - to toast them to.  I owe them everything, really.