My daughter, who as you know lives with her husband and son in Cambodia, has a new carved elephant sitting on their TV stand. It’s an African bull elephant sitting on his haunches, with painted ears, eyes, and toes. It seems a bit out-of-place — it’s the only carved anything in their house that I know of, and certainly in their family room. As a result, I knew why it was there even before I asked her about it.
My wife and I also have an elephant — several elephants, actually — on a lacquered piece on the wall of our bedroom.
She did not discover until she was an adult that her father had won the battle over how to spell her name; she had been spelling it wrong her entire life. (Actually, he supposedly had lost the battle, but since he was the one that filled out the birth certificate…)
Her nickname, although common today, was given to her accidentally by a grandchild who couldn’t pronounce “Grammy.”
She only ever cared for one man, whom she met at 15, married at 18 on the day they both graduated from high school, and was hopelessly in love with until he passed away the year after their 50th anniversary.