Laura

It is strange and wonderful, I think, the way that sometimes people come into our lives and make a great and magnificent impression on us, all out of proportion to the small amount of time we are privileged to spend with them. One person who is like that for me is my husband's paternal grandmother, Laura. The first time I met Laura was also the first time I met Dave's father and stepmother, by spending an entire weekend with them in the mountains! (Horrors, but that's another story.) I stayed in our room a bit longer than Dave did that first morning (yes, we stayed in the same room -- also horrifying), mostly because I was afraid to come out. Then I heard David and Laura downstairs discussing something in urgent tones. Dave was, sweet man that he is, in the kitchen trying to make my cup of Irish breakfast tea that I enjoy every morning. Laura, elegant lady of earlier times that she is, was instructing him brusquely but eloquently in the right way to brew said cup of tea. I knew then, at least, that I would have two allies during my stay, David and Laura.

Later that trip, we were out on the boat. The menfolk were horsing around and towing each other behind the boat in a large inner tube, making for a jouncy and hilarious ride, often dumping the towee in the water with a splash. I was the only woman who dared do it, although I professed my concern that I'd find myself in the water, too, and not too gracefully. I enjoyed the ride, though, and didn't fall in, much to my amazement. However, as I climbed up the ladder back into the boat, Dave suddenly abandoned his pretense of chivalry and instead of helping me up, he let me go with a flourish and I toppled unceremoniously back into the drink. As I sputtered and flapped my way back up the ladder, I heard Laura. She had stood up on deck and was confronting David even as she looked down at me with utmost concern. "David!" she exclaimed. "I can't believe you did that! Shame on you!" I imagined how affronted Mrs. Bennett would have been had Mr. Darcy tossed Elizabeth overboard.

Laura is one of those stand-out people for me. I don't see her often enough, and over the span of her long and fruitful life, I have been only the most minor player. But for me, she was love at first sight, and that impression has only improved over the 3 or so years I've known her. She lives alone in a large house, at one point dragging herself back to the phone from the outbuilding after having fallen and broken a hip, and she is always clear-eyed, and sharp, ready for a laugh. Laura is also quite beautiful -- she is always put-together, her porcelain skin is delicate and her snow-white hair enhances her light blue eyes. She is by no means particularly jovial or fun-loving, but for some reason she feels like a kindred spirit. From the moment I met her, I have loved, admired and respected her. She is the kind of strong, confident, independent woman I aspire to be.

The thing about those people who flit in and out of our lives but leave such an imprint is that the observer never knows for sure whether she has the whole picture. I haven't known Laura for many years, much less a lifetime. Maybe she was a Scrooge, a floozy, a frivolous, giddy girl, a layabout, a slob. Maybe she was a lousy mother or disinterested student. (She did believe those Obama mailers about his being a Muslim terrorist.) Maybe when she was about to turn 40, as I will in a few months, she was as confused and frightened, yet optimistic, as I am now. Or maybe she has always been the same. The beauty of this narrow vision is that we both benefit -- I get an unsullied role model, and she gets to be a heroine in my eyes. I see in her now the qualities that I would like to develop in myself, and on her 93rd birthday, which she celebrated this week, she is the one who has given me a gift.