My maternal grandmother was Maxine Platts Morgan.  She died of breast cancer just after she turned 45 years old.  That was the year before I was born.  I have the honor of sharing her name as my middle name… Calli Maxine.

Over the years I have asked my Mom stories about her, and tried to learn about her.  I feel such a connection, even though I never knew her and she has been gone for many, many years.

Some years back, just after college, I was working at Lofgren’s Scan Design, a furniture store in Salt Lake City.  An older couple came into the store, and I helped them find what they were looking for.  After we had spent some time together, the woman asked me if I might be related to Maxine Morgan.  I told her I was her granddaughter.  The couple said they had thought so.  They told me that my grandparents had been their dear friends.  The said how much they had loved my grandmother and how they would never forget her contagious laugh or how her smile could light up a room.  I felt honored that enough of her was in me, that they recognized me as her granddaughter.

This Fall, she has been especially on my mind.  My mom has told me how, each Fall, my grandmother worked very hard, canning everything she could.  She still remembers the kitchen table full of neat rows of beautiful bottles cooling.   She remembers her mother lining the pantry shelves with pears, peaches, cherries, apricots, carrots, beans, tomatoes, and applesauce.   My grandmother taught my mother canning.  And my mother taught me.  As I line the bottles on my shelves I feel once again so connected to my grandmother.  And I’m grateful that even though she is gone, she is still part of my life.

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