Two stories, for my two grandmas;

1. One grandma started dating her future husband when she was in her early 20’s and he was 10 years older. Her father did not want them to date. They went out anyway. My grandfather picked her up in his car, her dad shot at the car to deter them, and the bullet ricocheted and hit my grandfather in the eye. This was in the 1920’s, and he lost his eye. They got married, had 9 kids, and lived happily ever after without future contact with her parents. When my dad and his siblings were growing up, they knew not to ask about the glass eye. One day when several of them were in their teens, Grandma sat them down and said; “I’m going to tell the story of your father’s eye. I’m going to tell it one time and I don’t want to ever talk about it again.” There were 20 of us grandkids and all of our parents told us not to ask about the eye. We whispered to each other, wondering what happened. I think my dad told my sister and me in our late teens. Grandma lived to be 103.
2. My other grandmother was tough also. When she was in her late 70’s, she lived alone in the country. The mailbox was about 1/8 mile from the house and she would walk up there and back every day. One day she walked up, got the mail, fell, broker her hip, and (totally alone) scooted back to the house on her elbows to call an ambulance. Ants bit her most of the way back. When she told the story it was like it was no big deal! She was one of those strong women who just didn’t make a big deal out of things. I just added a pic of this grandmother on her way back to the house after getting her mail. At the end of the road she’s traveling was her house ❤️