The passing of a chocolate lover

My Grandma, Virgina L. Smith, passed away peacefully on Tuesday, June 9.

I have so many memories of my grandmother... but here I would like to share my favorite:

When I graduated high school, I moved from the east coast to live with my grandma in California. Living with that spunky lady was so fun! She was so full of class, dignity and many surprises. As part of our living arrangements, grandma had a white board left on the table to indicate where we were. Silly notes passed between us each day. Sometimes a simple, "Went to work" from me or "The market" from her. Both creatures of habit, we had become accustomed to writing our whereabouts. When two dainty ladies reside in a home together, there must be some kind of protection. Our knight in shinning armor came in the form of a home security system with shrieking alarm. Grandma was obsessive about that security system. She would go out to get the mail and set it... well, maybe she didn't go that far, but sometimes it felt like it.

One night, I came home very late from work. Upon opening the door, my ears that had been prepared for a shrieking alarm heard sweet silence... "ahhh, grandma's home. No alarm, sweet silence." I peeked in grandma's room to say goodnight and go to bed. When I looked in her room, grandma's bed was empty. And so was her bathroom. Her study. The den. Hmmm... Maybe I missed something. She might have gone out... Running to our white board saved for messages of whereabouts was the next order of business. When a blank message board was the result, I started to get a tad bit worried. Maybe she just forgot to state where she as going? I checked the garage- her car was still there! So, let's try to solve the mystery, my dear Watson.

No message on the white board- check

Car still in the garage- check

Late at night- check

Empty house- check

My head rushed with those terrible commercials of the elderly falling and pulling on their life line necklace. What if my grandma was lying on the ground yelling, "Help! I've fallen and I can't get up!" and I can't hear her?!?!?! What's a girl to do? Call the police, of course!

So, I called the police ensuing three squad cars lighting up a previously sleeping neighborhood. the very studmuffin-y police officers came in and starting casing the joint (what does that mean? If it means they were looking for drugs- that's not the case- I just really like cliches). After the handsome cops looked sufficiently under the porch, in closets and in her car with very official looking flashlights, grandma did not turn up. My level of panic had surpassed any level I had previously acquired. One officer started filling out a missing person report while another was trying to calm me down... and what do you know? I hear giggling coming up the from the front walkway. Giggling that suspiciously sounded like a spunky old lady... suspiciously like my grandma! I swung open the door so hard, it almost came off the hinges. The poor woman's next sight was that of her panic stricken granddaughter coming at her at warp speed. It seems that good ol' granny had a dinner appointment with a friend that she had forgotten about. So, in her rushing around to get ready, she had failed to write a message or turn on the alarm. Thus, ensuing mayhem. The best part of the night was when we received a lecture from the most studmuffin-y officer of all. We just sat, blushing as he told us the dangers of calling the police erroneously. (I still remember the tattoo around his HUGE bicep) After the craziness had finally left the house and neighborhood, grandma and I just laughed and laughed. Needless to say, we never forgot to write a message on the white board again.

I am so grateful to my grandmother. Her generosity is what allowed me to live in Napa and ultimately meet my sweet husband. The year I lived with her was an amazing experience for me. We shared her bed on the night of an earthquake, finished a half gallon of chocolate truffle ice cream in one sitting and watched the whole miniseries of 'A Town Called Alice' in a single weekend. I still see the sweetness in her eyes when she saw me cry. I still see the twinkle when we laughed. My grandmother was an accomplished and posh lady and I hope to someday live through the kind of things she endured with such class and dignity.