I don’t know what made me think of her. My grandmother, gone for a decade, yet still smiling out at me from the picture frames scattered here and there, most in need of a good dust rag. But it seems her memory comes calling, like a neighbor you weren’t expecting but you’re just as glad to see. I sit with the faded conversations, hers and mine; visiting the ones I like best. Then I remember the Gramisms –shots of wisdom, advice delivered in her sweet way, never preachy, condescending or glib.
Keep your underpants clean and your conscience cleaner.
If you leave the house and forget your manners, go back for them.
Take a minute, just one, in 24 hours and help yourself to a fresh lungful of air. Then immediately thank God that you can.
Carry a song in your heart or someplace close by. When the rain falls, and it will, reach in and sing it away.
Life was simpler then, with my grandmother alive and a younger me with a younger mind – more spacious, excited, ready. It drizzles more now and I sing less. My conscience needs a dusting too. Please and thank you are often optional. I breathe mostly without a careful gratitude – until the memories come calling. And I answer.