Becoming my grandmother

I’m not sure when it happened exactly but I’ve become my grandmother.

I’m not sure if it was the moment that I was annoyed the tram was too full for me to sit down and knit. Look, I’ve got two nieces or nephews showing up this year. They will need blankets.

Or perhaps it was when the first thing I did was come home from work to water the plants. Somehow, I’ve got a lot. That might have something to with people dropping their sickly and dying plants off at my house for some TLC. Like I used to do with my grandmother.

It might have been the moment that I started making my own ice tea. With mint grown in my own garden of course. It tastes so much better than anything from the store.

When I set up some deadlines for myself for my writing, I created some rewards to motivate myself. I get to read five chapters of my book for every deadline I meet. My librarian grandmother would have approved wholeheartedly.

It might have been that first course I took after finishing my degrees. The one that had nothing to do with work or professional development of academics. The one I took just because I thought it was interesting and I find learning fun. My grandmother was perpetually enrolled in a course at the local community center or college or attending a workshop.

The moment I first traveled on my own is a possibility. My grandmother used to. Germany, Sweden. Costa Rica. Now I’m doing the same. Spain. England. Turkey.

It could have been the moment that we put a hammock up in the yard and I sat outside in the summer sun, reading a new book and sipping on some iced tea while overlooking my garden. Joining her in that nightly summer ritual was one of the best parts of my annual summer visits to see her.

Honestly though, it might have been the day that I was born. I had the same shaped face and the same coloring. The same stubborn streak. The same sense of loyalty. The same tendency to slip into my own imaginary world. The same habit of always being busy.

Yeah. I think it was then.

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