Grandma Evelyn passed away on Thursday. She was my first grandparent to pass. Her obituary reminds me of things we had in common. Puzzles, cats. Not listed: wine. She made homemade dill pickles that were to DIE for. She grew them in her garden and filled jars with crispy, fresh baby cucumbers, dill, garlic, and whatever else to produce individual jars of heaven. I have dreams about those pickles. In fact, I had a dream about her pickles the night before she died. With the last minute help of some completely amazing and thoughtful people, I will be able to drive down to Springfield for the visitation and funeral. Two or three of my co-workers pitched in to work for me on the weekend before the most popular holiday in the country, which is difficult to achieve as I'm the only charge nurse on my weekend. Val is going to take fabulous care of my animals, and Casey will be pleased to stay where he is comfortable. He will meet some new friends while watching the Packers play football, and he will probably take a car ride to Julia's house. It's just a huge weight off my shoulders that everybody has so quickly and easily pitched in to help me go down there.