Omi. It's a diminutive form of a German word for grandmother. That's funny, you see, because to us she loomed large. Our Omi was stocky and headstrong and orderly and insistent, only selectively sentimental and with little time for nonsense. The framed cross-stitch on her wall said it for her: "Cleanliness Adorns the Kitchen."
She loved us a lot, but didn't tolerate us much. There were certain ways one should behave and, once told, that was that. We were welcome to visit, as long as we sat and listened.
Don't slam the door. No elbows on the table. If you have so much energy that you need to run around, I'll be happy to show you the lawnmower or get you working pulling weeds or painting a fence.
That was our Omi. Alles in Ordnung....everything in order....even you.
She loved us. She adored our Opa. Later on, "I had the best husband in the world" would lead her mantra. When he died rather suddenly she found solace in her orderly world, but from then on something was missing.
Always a bit of a prude, our Omi looked disapprovingly on any public displays of affection. "Nah!" she would say. But one day, long after our Opa died, she surprised us: seeing a young girl sitting in her boyfriend's lap, our Omi said, "If he were here today, I would do that."
Love conquers all--our stubborn habits, our ingrained ideosyncracies, our greatest inhibitions. Love opens the door to a life of no regrets.
Hopefully, for you, it's not too late.
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