My Grandma Rust passed away on Wednesday.

She used to make us oats with cinnamon-butter toast and orange juice in the mornings. Never did we leave the table with food still upon our plate, because elsewhere others were in need.

Whenever Grandma was on a trip, she sent us postcards. Pictures of Las Vegas and Paris, Dallas and Little Rock. Grandpa collected matchbooks where ever he went, and Grandma gave them to me when he died.

Grandma and Grandpa were a proud match. Witty and passionate, serious and hardworking, they were an equal pair, who took care of grandchildren by setting rules that they expected would be followed. They were.

In the summers we would tumble into their car and head to Rector, Ark., to visit friends and family. Food was always plentiful upon the plates, the tea was sweet and stories about family or business or politics always filled the air. Often, when the topic turned to politics, tempers rose. So Grandma would try to switch the subject back to cousins and uncles and sons, oh my. We played baseball in the yard until it became dark, and then it was kick the can or flashlight tag.

City slickers were always suspect in Rector, and many times I heard the tale about how Grandpa once humbled an urban visitor. Grandpa's family had an old red pony, called Old Red, I believe. Whenever Old Red heard a particular word, it bucked. Grandpa must have said that word a lot the day the city boy visited, said Grandma with a sparkle in her eye.

In Rector, Grandma and Grandpa always took us to Sunday school and church. To help us get ready she would have Grandpa loan us his comb. We would put it under the faucet and then run it through our hair. All slicked up, we were ready. They rarely missed church, even when away.

On Christmas Eve, we all gathered at her home. There was never a dull moment, and although the in-laws could never escape the spotlight, they all survived the dread initiations. We sang Christmas carols and read the Baby Jesus story. Then it was time to open gifts around the tree, which each year was found and cut down by a grandson and decorated with cookies baked by little ones long ago. Grandpa joked, Grandma laughed and all was right with the world.

Wayne and Eva. The names are magical to me, like passwords to an enchanted world of honor, courage and loyalty. Their lessons were simple and true. Don't say anything if you don't have anything kind to say. Eat everything on your plate. If you are going to do something, do it well. Always tell the truth. Love your mother and father. Respect authority. Be brave and stick up for your friends. Work hard.

Grandma lived her rules. As a businesswoman and wife and mother and grandmother and friend, she treated all with respect and did everything with dignity. She was a proud woman, who was loved and will be missed.

Jon K. Rust is assistant to the publisher of the Southeast Missourian.