I'm staying in her guest room

She reminds me of my late grandmother. I came into the house the other night to find her in her recliner surrounded by piles of books with little scraps of paper marking her place in each. She was reading The New York Times. I pointed at the paper and said something about the big city news. She said, "Well, you know, if you live in a small town like this and all you read is the local newspaper, you miss a lot. If you want a broader world view, you've got to read other things."

I smiled and sighed a bit as I told her, "My grandma Betty used to read The Wall Street Journal for the very same reason." We went on to discuss that broader world view, and I found that I'm staying with a rather well-read, well-traveled liberal old lady.

I have often wondered what it would be like to sit and talk with my grandma now that I am grown. I think I may have caught a glimpse of that this week.


She is funny, entirely without meaning to be. Last night found me chasing her pug around her neighborhood in my pajamas. The little Houdini occasionally likes to stretch his legs when she opens the door, and she can't catch him. I did catch him (not before entertaining the neighbors as I darted around their backyards braless and shoeless yelling, "Come here, Smokey!") and returned him to her. She proceeded to yell at him, "You are such a little s-h-i-t!" That's right. She spells it. Because he is only eight, and you shouldn't really cuss around children.