I think it comes as no surprise that I became much closer with my paternal grandmother in my senior year of undergrad. She was wired, and stayed that way, even though she lived alone on a mountain with a small dog and the great outdoors in Spokane. It was her way of staying connected to her progeny, especially those of us far away, who wanted to hear from her, who'd share things with her because we knew she would listen and give us good counsel.
When she passed, just a few months after I graduated, I didn't truly get the opportunity to grieve. Now, as I honor her memory by posting her thoughts here, I'm blessed by the presence I feel.
And I'm not really surprised at all that she showed up at Shelton this past weekend to check on me, my mom and my dad. Angels are just good like that, you know.
******************************************************************************
(April 2, 1999)
In the old days, the aged were the story tellers making history and religious values alive and important. In recent times, we make our old ones think they are not important. We spoof their stories and make them feel foolish.
The truth is that we are ignorant of what is precious. Rigidity can creep in and set in young minds if there are no soft memories, no laughter, no times too deep for tears.
Age is grace-a time too valuable to waste.
Peace,
Tawanka
And a glorious Easter to all.
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