Today was my grandpa’s 90th birthday. My aunt and her husband, along with his kids, came in to celebrate. We all went out to dinner and drank wine and ate pie. It was a good night.
I looked at pictures just now, in an album that my grandma made for me before she died. There are so many of Grandpa and me, the first grandchild. I was so small and he was so much younger. I remember exactly the way that that hideous green couch felt against my fingertips. I remember how the room smelled. I remember running into my Grandparents’ bedroom and coming out with all of grandma’s jewelry and scarves. I remember Grandpa sitting in the brown chair, reading the paper with his feet on a wooden stool. I remember how he patiently humored me and let me dress him up, clip-on earrings and all. I remember Grandma would always tell him how lovely he looked and then she would make toasted cheese sandwiches for lunch. I loved those days.