Just Call Me Martha

E and I spent the afternoon making homemade sugar cookies, complete with homemade icing. They were not only edible, but quite good--I think we're both in shock.


Louise Sandlin Hutto

My grandmother Lucy died last week. She was 89 years old. It wasn't sudden; it was one of those experiences where you sit around waiting for the call, wanting it to come because you're so anxious, jumping every time the phone rings, but not wanting it to come, because you don't really want to face that reality.

Lucy was an incredible person. She was born in 1918 in Georgia, met and married my grandfather, Vee, in her early 20s and went on to raise five children, 15 grandchildren and 8 great-grandchildren. Vee died in 1989, and though I know she missed him, Lucy just kept on going strong for the next 20 years. She was the kind of grandmother that everyone wishes they had--she always had time for us grand kids, and it seemed like her life pretty much revolved around us. She was attentive and loving, but she was also a firm disciplinarian--I don't think there's a one of us that won't remember how it felt when she fixed her gaze on you and told you to "hush up." You did just that, because you knew that Lucy didn't suffer any fools.