“I thought canning food was for a season, like over the winter, not for 30 years!” I hefted a jar of red stuff with tiny yellow seeds and big black spots, it’s brass top swollen. “Is grandma conducting some kind of experiment down here?” The basement shelves and cabinets spewed forth their mottled contents. Stacks of batteries, wires, tools, books, ice skates, vinyl records, lawn darts, bags of paper plates, and even old curtains cluttered every surface. Anything you could need two of, Grandma had 12.

My mother chuckled. “It certainly looks like it!” She stretched her back and wiped a dusty, gloved hand over her forehead leaving a smudge. “I think it’s time for a break!” she declared.

“How long does it take to grow Botulism?” I continued as I set down the jar. “You know, I bet Botox manufacturers would pay big bucks for ’Granny’s Botulism Brew’! Ignore the V8 smell.”

Mom tousled my hair as we trudged upstairs for lemonade. I think the humor and work kept Mom’s mind off Grandma’s absence.