"Dinah, won't you blow your horn?"

This post and my next one are devoted to my Grandma Micki. Her real name's Pearl Maxine, but many, many years ago, she decided that was an old lady name. I'm not exactly sure how she chose Micki, but I sure can't imagine calling her anything else.

The following are some of my most prominent memories of her.

~Grandma always carried Tic-Tacs in her purse, and Sundays during church, you could hear the Skunes kids jiggling the container. In retrospect, she should have had larger treats - they'd have kept our mouths closed a little longer!

~When my sisters and I were sick during childhood, occasionally we'd be dropped off at Grandma's for the day. We'd spend it cozied up in her bed, watching "The Price is Right" and eating Campbell's chicken noodle soup.

~The first thing she ever taught her grandchildren was how to play poker - not Go Fish, not Uno...but poker. I thought it was great.

~In one of her extra bedrooms, there was this gigantic round box that she had filled with "dress up" clothes: an emerald green cocktail dress from her younger years, a Hunter Hornets basketball jersey, an Arthur Knights baseball jersey (Arthur is the closest town to the farm), random dress clothes of hers and Gramps' that either went out of fashion or became too big/small. There were lots of photos taken of all the cousins dressed up in items from that box, and they were some of my happiest memories.

~She knows the words to every Judds song ever written. When we'd ride in the car with her, she'd be-bop away, dancing and singing from the driver's seat.

~She buys boxed wine. And LOVES it. Occasionally she opens it wrong and ruins the seal on the box, so she dumps it in a regular juice pitcher and drinks from it for weeks - even after it's started to turn to vinegar.

~She can throw the most random ingredients into a pot or baking dish and come up with something scrumptious for any meal.

~She uses Pond's cold cream to remove her make-up. The smell of that stuff is something I'll remember forever.

~Grandma is continually outraged that young people these days have to shower daily.

~She is a bridge player - and a damn good one.

~She can finish a crossword puzzle faster than anyone I know. She can come up with the most random, little-known word or phrase in a millisecond. It is her I thank for my initial love of words.

~She taught me to use newspapers and vinegar water to wash windows.

~Grandma has macular degeneration, and can no longer drive. She has a golf cart at their vacation home in Mesa, Arizona, though...I don't want to imagine what will happen the day she's told she's too dangerous to be meandering the streets of their retirement community.

~Even though she can no longer see what's 20 feet ahead of her, she can navigate you through Mesa/Phoenix like she was born there, announcing every street by name.

~One does not debate her orders; I can clearly recall my father and grandpa begrudgingly doing as they were told on many occasions...things that may or may not have been done incorrectly, but they didn't dare dispute the topic.

~She makes rearranging furniture look like a profession. We joke sometimes that if my grandpa comes home in the dark, he'd better turn the lights on or he'll end up flat on his face tripping over the sofa.

~She would do anything for anyone she loves. Once, when a friend's family member passed away, she and a couple of her church buddies went to help the family clear out the house. In return for cleaning out the attic, she was told to pick any item she wanted, and she chose a World War I bugle.

I remember that because I played my father's old cornet in middle/high school, I was the only grandchild able to play that bugle. We had heard my grandma tell the story numerous times about how she acquired it, but I'd always thought the story had been stretched over the years, and it was some worthless piece of trash that should have been thrown out long ago.

Then, a few years ago when my grandparents sold their lake cabin, every family member was able to choose an item during their own clearing out process. My Grandma Micki told me I should take the bugle, and knowing you don't argue with grandma, I took it.

Since that day, it hasn't always had a prominent resting place in our home. It does now, though. It sits on top of the hutch on my desk, and every time I see it, I think of where it's been. I can honestly say it feels right to play Taps on that horn. And it brings a misty smile to my face when my son now totes it around, calling it his tuba, and blowing his own clear, bright tone from its bell.