ABSTRACT
Grandma was president of the New Mexico Women's Christian Temperance Union. She bird-dogged her children and grandchildren until they signed pledges declaring that they would never let the diabolical stuff touch their lips. She was not tall. But she was big, an important woman. She was friends with the ex-governor. When he retired, he built her two lamps, one of which now lights the desk I write on. She wrote a book, paid a vanity publisher to print it, and gave copies to all her friends, children, and relatives. They are grateful for it; they feel guilty when they don't read it. Since her death, she has become wiser with each passing year.
