Harris, Carole Benon (Nov 5, 1925 – May 8, 2000) by Lindsey Redfern

Favorites with Grandma Wheatley by Linsey Redfern

I was so excited for visits with Grandma because they
always meant one thing–fun. She had an aura of fun. It seemed she always had a
game to play whether it be Skip-Bo or seeing who could suck on an M&M the
longest on car trip. It seemed she always had on a fun necklace to play with
when things started to get "boring." She was quick with a story about
my dad or the uncles. She told some dandies too. She had this great ability to
look at the past and find the fun and laughter in it even in situations like
young Uncle Al eating rat poison, my dad getting stabbed with a fork or making
a peanut butter and chocolate sandwich. I guess it is a gift given to mothers
of six seemingly rowdy boys.

As I grew older, I came to love another side of Grandma–her
passion for poetry. I remember the day that Grandma was moved from the house to
the hospital. I was there. There was a time when Grandma and I were alone
together in her room and she asked me to read some poetry to her from a big
green book. She had the book all marked up with favorites. There were bookmarks
and post-it notes everywhere. I read the following poem to her:

 
I think that I shall never see

A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest

Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,

And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in Summer wear

A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;

Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,

But only God can make a tree.

       -- Joyce Kilmer

After I read it, she smiled and said, "Oh, I love that one." 

She then commented on how well I read poetry. I promised myself that I would never forget that moment.

There is something else that is kind of random that I remember and really like about her too.  I feel like she used the phrase, "You bet!" a lot. Since I noticed that, I have made a conscious effort to work it into my vernacular until it became natural. Now, every time I say it, I think of Grandma Wheatley.