Adieu, Dorothy

Our exit from Utah began with bumps and jags, rather than with the smooth start I'd hoped for.

Amidst all the hub-bub of arranging to become

In loving memory of Dorothy Irene Yoder

full-time gallivants, we lost my husband's paternal grandmother, Dorothy Irene Yoder, who passed away at the age of 96.  The family was kind enough to wait for us to arrive in Missouri (more about our misadventures on that commute in another post) before holding Grandma's memorial service.

Grandma Yoder was a tiny woman with a steady, piercing gaze, who enjoyed getting gussied up for visitors.  She was spry, 10% feisty and 100% hearty midwesterner.  She loved ice cream and the color lavender, and didn't much care for meat.  When I think about the stories of Grandma's youth, which she told with fervor and crystal clarity, I marvel at all she must have seen in nearly a century on this planet.

Grandma was born in 1918, the same year that World War I ended, Chevrolet sold it's first pick-up truck, and Air Mail service began.  Dorothy was a third-grader when the first motion picture with sound was played, and it wasn't until she was 10 years old that sliced bread was invented.  Grandma married Grandpa Walter when she was just 16 years old; they were together for 70 years, until Grandpa's passing 11 years ago.  "Greatest Generation", indeed!

Grandma was memorialized in the Yoder family plot, next to Grandpa, in a picturesque, sunny hilltop cemetery just a few miles from the town where she grew up.

I am fortunate and very glad to have known Dorothy Yoder.  Farewell, sweet Grandma.