Granny Sammies

One thing I love about coming home home is upon stepping out of my car, I usually hear "Hi Liz! How are you? Do you want a sandwich?" called out to me
Who does this calling, you ask?
Why, it's my Grandma! Shouting from the window!
(The first time this happened, I looked around like an idiot trying to locate the body for her voice)

Now, she could be asking if I want a sandwich because she knows I love them, but I really believe she asks if I want a sandwich because don't ALL Grandmas ask that question?

There's something so familiar and comforting about a Grandma sandwich
My Grandma's sandwiches go something like this:
Plain white store bought bread with real mayonnaise spread on both slices. She does the mayonnaise very thin; I think it might be a carryover from the Great Depression?
Next up is turkey from the local deli, but only two slices; no need to go crazy.
Flopped on top of the turkey comes American cheese, (American cheesefood would be more accurate) and a single leaf of lettuce.

She'll then sandwich it up and cut in half. Down the middle. No fancy-schmancy diagonal cuts for my G-ma.

In my extensive sandwich eating, I realize this is a very simple, and perhaps boring, sandwich.
The fact that my Grandma makes it for me, and shares the other half with me, puts this sandwich at the top of my list.