20150215.1006

Today is one of my grandmother's eighty-sixth birthday. (I already called her.) I am fortunate enough to know both of my grandmothers, to have both of them still with me and part of my life into my thirties and into the life of my own daughter. Not all are so lucky, as I well know, either in having their grandparents around or in having grandparents worth having around. That I am so fortunate, I know, and I am both mindful of it and thankful for it.

I have not always been diligent about marking the day in this webspace; I have noted it only in 2011 and 2014 previously, and the 2011 note is remarkably brief. Last year's is a bit better, I think, and more in line with the woman I know my grandmother to be. I do not know if I have another such story to share about her today, honestly. My own parts in the stories of my life have not always been the best acted, and even my self-pity and reflexive condemnation will only allow so much baring of my failures. I imagine the same is true for us all, although I grew up with and around people who are not as apt to note their own inadequacies to others as I seem to be.

They are also not as apt as I am to gush or to appreciate gushing. (I do not know where the part of me that is comes from, really, and I am not always pleased to have it. Being passionate about things is good, I suppose, but intemperance in that passion is far less so, and I have not always or even often been good about moderating my feelings.) I need offer no paean here; I shall certainly not sing it, as my time as a music major proved to me that there is a thing called a bucket and I cannot carry a tune in one. She knows I love and appreciate her--or she damned well ought to by now; she's had more than thirty-two years to learn it, and if she hasn't by now, there're problems with her that I am the wrong kind of doctor to fix.

I cannot be with the family to help her celebrate her birthday this time, and I have not been able to for some time. My wife, Ms. 8, and I have sent what we could along, this year and previously, and we can only hope that it is enough. (Grandma said it was when I called her this morning. Why she would lie about it at her age...) And we can--and very much do--hope for more birthdays with her, however many more we may be offered. Each of us only gets so many, after all, and Ms. 8, in particular, has yet to get a fair share of them.