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My number one hero, and the person that influenced my life more than anyone was my grandmother, whom I called Gram. She was a quarter Blackfoot Indian called Little Bird, but her Christian name was Melody Lynn. To me, she was the first angel I was to meet on earth.

Not quite five-foot in height, and weighing one hundred and sixty pounds, Gram was as broad as she was tall. Her face was perfectly round as were her blue eyes. In addition, until the day she died, at age seventy-one, her skin was flawless, and remained wrinkle free. Gram's hair, which at one time had been raven black, was as white as virgin snow, and fell to the calves of her legs. Each night she would brush it one hundred strokes, and in the morning she would braid it into two long snakes, and then wrap them around her head like a woven basket.

With only a third grade education, Gram became a self-educated woman. Her books, mainly borrowed from the city library, were as varied as her interests. Her favorites were Tolstoy, Shakespeare, Dickinson, Ruben, and a host of other classic authors that she read on a weekly basis. Even more than she loved to read, Gram loved to write. She journal every day of her adult life, and even managed to get a short story published in Readers Digest; something that took me forty years to accomplish. From age nine, Gram encouraged me to write, and I will always be grateful.

Although Gram rarely attended church, she knew the bible by heart and could quote scriptures better than most ministers. Considered knowledgeable in the art of healing, Gram was always available to help a friend. Living in the country, and miles from a hospital, people utilized help wherever they could find it, and Gram was always available. There were countless times when Gram traveled miles on horseback to sit with the sick and dying. My guess is that her calm demeanor was comforting and her secrets for healing were as good as any doctor's tonic.

Gram was a gourmet cook, and although she was a diabetic she loved her sweet goodies.
Gram also loved to garden. More than once her roses won first prize at the county fair. It seemed that her talents were endless. She could heal the sick, ride a horse, rope a cow, shoot a gun, worm a hook, quilt a blanket, crochet a tablecloth, and split wood better than any man I have ever known. Gram loved to fish, but when the fish were not biting she could sit for hours in deep meditation.

Early in my childhood, Gram told me that life is like a cup of water you have to

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