Sparky.

I don't know much about her, my maternal great-grandmother.

I do know her name was Sparky.

At least, that's what everyone called her. Her real name was probably something old and did her a disservice.

Sparky fit her. Like the clothes she chose not to wear.

That's right.

Sparky was a nude model.

Back in the day, my great granny stripped, showed her tatas and bore no shame.

Can't say her folks shared the sentiment, but from what I understand, Sparky didn't much care what anyone thought.

The only rules were her rules.

She died when I was around four, so I have few memories of her.

I do remember certain things though.

She was loud, gregarious and spoke with a deep, raspy voice that probably would've scared most children, but I loved it.

Her attire consisted of psychedelic over-sized shirts and she'd paint bright lipstick on her mouth every hour.

She'd aged to be a very large woman, but still had a regal-ness to her.

I recognized it even then.

Something made you look at Sparky. Listen to her. Laugh with her.

You wanted her to love you.

There's a picture of Sparky holding me in front of an amusement park. It may be the only photo of she and I together. Next time I'm home, I'll find it and post it.

I wish I'd had more time with Sparky. Knew more about her. I know there have to be stories she took to the grave and that's a damn shame. It's too bad she didn't keep a journal.

I've been thinking about her a lot lately and hope some of her lives on in me.

She was unapologetic for who she was or how she lived her life.

She was a woman who stripped - back when women hardly did more than cook. Adventure was sexy.

She didn't believe in gender assignments. The fact she was female didn't mean she couldn't do what she wanted.

She was SPARKY.

She may have lost her clothes, but she never lost sight of herself.

Lots of lessons in that.

I mean, I'm not suggesting one has to be a nude model to learn such things, but damn if it doesn't make her a kick ass great-grandmother...