Today would have been my maternal grandmother’s 89th birthday.
My mom and my younger sister, who still live in our hometown, usually visit her grave, and, since the timing is right, use this as the occasion to put out the holiday poinsettias at the family plot.
My sister plays Roy Orbison songs because he was my grandmother’s favorite.
I’m never quite sure what to do with myself.
Usually I spend some time thinking of her, remembering, wondering, imagining the things I would talk to her about if I she were here, as though she’d just been away for a while.
Today, I decided to go try a new Trappist beer. I don’t recall her ever drinking beer, and I don’t know what opinions she might have had about Trappist monks. She died well before I took an interest in either, so her take on these subjects shall remain a mystery to me, a couple more items on the long list of things I wonder about when I think of her and all the years she’s been gone.