For no apparent reason this morning, flashes of recall of two grandmothers. Me set up with a snack tray on the screened-in porch while she mends and he reads the paper; the magic of a musty drawer full of things collected to fuel my imaginings. A cup of tea for three generations of ladies, discussing books; her amazement at the prowess of my generation with all things. Two grandmothers who in different ways made me feel capable of anything, interesting, followed with admiration.
Impossible to know what pebbles catch as the river flows by. What will my daughter recall of our house and its ways, of her grandparents, or any of the rest? How will she be polished?