The Perfect Rob Roy

That's what Bob's grandmother, Emilie--who everyone called "Gram"--always drank after a long day at Chris Henderson Realty in Wildwood Crest. She'd walk in the door at 5:00 p.m. and announce, "Time for a Perfect Rob Roy," then walk down to her vast wet bar and promptly make herself one. We all knew then that happy hour at Gram's house was in full swing!

Gram died last Sunday at the ripe old age of 88. In the past few years her memory began to fail and she'd been in the care of a local nursing home in the Wildwood area. But up until that point she still lived independently in her little Cape Cod in Wildwood Crest. Before that she'd spent 30 years living in "The Big House", which is what all of Bob's family called the house that she and Bob's grandfather, Len, built and then retired to in 1967. It was an awesome house, made for entertaining. Situated on Atlantic Avenue, right across the street from the ocean, it boasted the aforementioned wet bar, located in the family room, and a large living room with sliding glass doors that opened up onto a patio in her backyard.

Some of my fondest memories of The Big House and Gram center around happy hour. After she'd make her Perfect Rob Roy, we'd all make ourselves a beverage and meander out onto the front porch to watch the cars cruise up and down Atlantic Avenue. Gram would make herself busy inside fixing little plates of peeled, steamed shrimp with cocktail sauce and a side of saltines, making sure that each plate had exactly six shrimp and exactly six saltines. We'd then sit in chairs on the front porch while Toby, Bob's enormous furball of a dog, would run back and forth on the roof of the house, right above the porch. See, he'd found a way he could squeeze through the railing on the sundeck above the garage onto the roof. This fact caused great consternation to many people passing by, who'd invariably shout, "Hey! You know your dog's on the roof?!?" And Bob's dad would casually reply, "We don't have a dog."

Every time Bob and I visited Gram she'd always hug me and say, "Hi, doll!" I'd always felt completely accepted by Bob's family, and Gram and her hugs were a huge part of that. I know this is what many people will remember about Gram. The big hug. The smile. I know this is what I'll remember best about Gram.