Other than that, the only sharp memory I have of Grandma Shafer is the day I followed Dad into the kitchen and she looked past him at me and said, "What did you bring her for?"
I have no idea what she meant. Was she serious? Teasing? Just tired of kids being around every day of her life--first her nine and then the next generation?
I laughed about it when Duane and I talked about it. "It doesn't matter," I said. "It didn't hurt or enhance my life."
"I think it does matter," he said, and I just shook my head.
And yet 66 years later, I still remember where she sat, the sharp look on her face when she looked at me, stepping back behind my dad again.
It didn't change my life in any way. Or did it? I know if I ever said words like this to my grands, they'd know I was kidding. They'd know I love them more than my life. That they are so much fun. I'm not sure I'd be so careful of that if I didn't remember Grandma's words.
I've been dreaming about the beginning of my next story. About a woman whose name I think is Maggie who inherits a cottage on a nondescript little lake. I don't have much yet, but the idea came with two words. Trilby died.
Like the remembered words of my grandmother, those two don't matter. Except that they opened the previously sealed envelope of Chapter One.
I'm so excited.