For my paternal grandmother, Ethel Lucille McKeehan Russell, who loved me as I am and who believed I could become anything I wanted to be.

She was a woman
Of virtue and good name;
Possessed of great heart
And endless creativity,
She raised prize-worthy gardens
That never saw a ribbon,
And was a master seamstress
Whose creations seldom appeared homemade.
Music, a gift from her Irish ancestry,
Was her third crowning joy;
The first were her children
And their children;
But she loved her man
Enough to dim
The blazing light
Of her originality
Beneath staid colors
And great dignity.
Once in a while,
However,
She would break free,
And paint a door fuchsia
Or sew a fake fur quilt
In brilliant jewel tones
Before returning to her shell
To hibernate once more.