Following the death of my grandfather in 1989, my grandmother spent the next several years as a world traveler. Ireland, Poland, Israel, China. She even came to visit me during a year abroad I spent in Sydney. She’s 91 now, and I had initially assumed that, while my own mother had no choice but to fly to Iceland, HER mother could make any decision she wanted. Grandma’s mind is in perfect shape. Her knees, not so much. The flight, not so short. I could hardly blame her for deciding to sit this one out.
And so, once again, the occasion of our wedding became a cautionary tale in not underestimating the ones we love. Grandma Muriel has already applied for a passport renewal, and she seems to take seriously my mom’s inspiring credo: “Well, if I’m doing it, you’re doing it.”
So, in honor of the fact that I did no wedding planning at all whatsoever today, please find below today’s entry: a photo of my ninety-one year-old grandmother reading The Advocate.
Your ninety-one-year-old grandmother looks fantastic!
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