The Out-of-Touch Grandma

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The Out-of-Touch Grandma

Ah, for the good old days — just a few short years ago — when the grandkids were one, two, and three. Christmas shopping was a breeze! I couldn't make a bad choice.  Everything I picked out and brought home was perfect.

"Mom, I love the matching dresses!" one daughter gushed. “I love the Frosty hat and mittens," said the other.

I love the toys! I love the books! I love everything! That’s all I heard.

I was in Grandparent Heaven. I bought a Fisher-Price zoo, a farm, even the Christmas manger. I bought extra little people. I bought a tea set and a tractor. I bought…

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Rewinding to a friendship a lifetime ago

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I can't attend his funeral. I'll be out of town, 3,000 miles away. It doesn't matter, I suppose. The truth is, I hardly knew him.

And yet I knew him once. We were children together. We lived in the same Randolph neighborhood, went to the same church, waited at the same bus stop every morning and sat under the same roof, though not always in the same classroom, for four long years, because the years are long when you're 7 and 8 and 9 and 10.

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