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It was too hot to go outside. We were one of the only families I knew who had air conditioning and I wanted to take full advantage of it. I climbed into the alcove behind my brother's closet to look through the old photo albums. That's when I first saw her.

Her cheeks were plump and rosy. She looked robust and healthy and appeared to be sleeping peacefully. "Is this you when you were a baby?" I asked my mother showing her the photo. "No, it's my sister." I was shocked by Mom's response because she had always referred to herself as an only child. She explained that she had an older sister who had only lived a few days. She was actually dead when the photo was taken. Those rosy cheeks were makeup. She was in a white dress and a little matching coffin. As an eight year old, I thought the whole thing was morbid. Her name was Mary - same as my Mom's. I thought it was unoriginal and creepy to name your second child the same name as your dead first born.

It didn't surprise me though, knowing my grandmother. She was born in 1900 the youngest of eight and the only girl. She was loud and spoiled. Her name was Beulah - really. She lost track of her seven brothers over the years so my Mom never knew any of her uncles. Grandma was married three times which wasn't very common for women of her day. She placed my mother in boarding schools. I like to credit her with the beginning of our long line of dysfunctional people.

She was built like a buxom five foot long punching bag. I used to wonder if she ever knew that her drawn on eyebrows were never the same two days in a row. Her voice was her most distinguishing feature. It had the depth of Pearl Bailey, the projection of Kate Smith and Gomer Pyle's accent. Her every booming word was abrasive and evoked disgusted giggles from me. The urge to mimic her was irrepressible. I became the family "expert" at imitating Grandma. From her "Ha hon." to her "Whaddayaknow?" to her most embarrassing "Do yo have ta do a wee wee?", I had her down pat.

Her scent was a combination of cigarettes, coffee and makeup. She ate with vigor, smacking and talking with her mouth full. Gallagher would have been impressed with her food showers!

I was told that as an infant, I would howl and scream when she came near me. I am known for my good instincts...She would send matching dresses for my sister and me. They were torture devices with scratchy petticoats and matching parasol. Some girls would have killed for outfits like these. As a tomboy, I would have killed not to wear them. When my sister outgrew hers, I had to wear hers too - I was doubly punished.

Grandma was both the plague and entertainment of my childhood and her dreaded visits were always during the summer.

I married and had six children. Whenever we passed through her town, we would stop and visit out of a sense of duty. My kids were indifferent toward her but enjoyed the visits.

On one hot August trip, she was particularly animated. She had begun to go blind and was in her eighties. I had four children then. We stuffed the small mobile home with seven people and Grandma's dog Mike. The dog was humping the baby's leg, two of the kids were running aroung and my oldest daughter casually asked, "How many kids do you have, Grandma?"

"Oh just one - your mom's mother. I had another girl but she died when she was three days old." The room was alive with activity. I had my usual headache coming on. Grandma had a very distant wistful glazed-over look. Her voice trailed off into a soft whine and she said almost to herself, "I just couldn't stand the crying anymore..."

Learn more about this author, Cindy Burch.
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