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You're a brave, brave girl, Tula" Gaby told her."I know", said the little girl. "I got it from you.
James Patterson
Grandma; it was to grandma I truly wanted to have returned, but she was no more. I could only remember the day she died. The tears mother shed on me, as if I was going to face a more difficult world than any other member of our family. Pg.100
Obehi Peter Ewanfoh
A Grandmother thinks of her grandchildren day and night, even when they are not with her.She will always love them more than anyone would understand.
Karen Gibbs
When I was suddenly thrust into what everyone calls menopause (Orchids) earlier than my body planned, I decided someone needed to take charge on so many levels. It was time to not only change the vernacular, but to speak up and say "Hey! This isn't an old lady's disease! We aren't old! We are strong and dammit, we are beautiful and sexy too!
Lisa Jey Davis
My last girlfriend was a Showgirl - But we eventually broke up because she wouldn't Tell me anything. Now I'm dating a girl who looks exactly like my grandma, only my girl older.-James Lee Schmidt and Jarod Kintz
James Lee Schmidt
Frankie, I'm fully awake and more curious than George. If we hang up I'll lie here formulating a million reasons for your call, none of them your truth, and that would drive me crazy. You wouldn't do that to the guy who has your grandmother's old phone number, would you? Trust me, you can tell me anything.—Emerson
Liza M. Wiemer
I’m supposed to figure out if the glass is half full or half empty,” I told her.Without a moment’s hesitation, in a split second, my grandmother shrugged and said: “It depends on if you’re drinking or pouring.
Bill Cosby
The groove is so mysterious. We're born with it and we lose it and the world seems to split apart before our eyes into stupid and cool. When we get it back, the world unifies around us, and both stupid and cool fall away.I am grateful to those who are keepers of the groove. The babies and the grandmas who hang on to it and help us remember when we forget that any kind of dancing is better than no dancing at all.
Lynda Barry
Well, we're originally from Glace Bay."Grandma Elsie's eyes glittered. She was looking at one of her own, a lost Cape Bretoner in need of help and offering a new story. "Tell me all about it, dear.
Beatrice Rose Roberts
He greeted me in his usual attire - pajama pants. "Hey stranger!" he said, hugging me for a few long seconds. "I've already set up the board. Can I get you some rose"I nodded, overwhelmingly relieved to be with another human being - even if he was really a wolf in grandma's clothing. Or was he just a wolf in wolf's clothing? After all, he wore pajamas... Hmmm. I contemplated all this as he poured me a glass of wine."Mind if I smoke?" he asked as he lit up a joint and motioned me over to the sleek brown couch. Italian, of course.Through the three windows that faced south, north, and west, I saw the Statue of Liberty, and Ellis Island, where I had paid to have my parents' names inscribed in the immigrant wall of honor. Some American Dream this was!
Inna Swinton
I want to remember...Smelling your newness upon this earth. The baby-Jesus smell as Grandma used to put it. Pure. Unsullied. Like the imagined smell in the twirling air of eiderdown feathers spin-floating around the yard on a new spring day.
Carew Papritz
Who wants avocado?
Wendy Lustbader
The Kite CharmFor A Life Filled with High-Flying Fun, Play with the Wonder of A Child
Viola Shipman
Where did you meet?” he pressed on.I shrugged and considered a little rephrasing. “I was out for a run.”“From who?”I leaned back to take a long, very long, slow sip of that beer.Knox leaned forward. “I think we’re both bullsh*tting here, you ever play that card game?”“With my grandma, every Sunday after church.
Dannika Dark
Where did you meet?” he pressed on.I shrugged and considered a little rephrasing. “I was out for a run.”“From who?”I leaned back to take a long, very long, slow sip of that beer.Knox leaned forward. “I think we’re both bullsh*tting here, you ever play that card game?”“With my grandma, every Sunday after church.
Dannika Dark
To all those who care, You can't forever. Time steals the years,And your reflection in the mirror.But I can still see the story in your eyes, And your timeless passion that’s never died.While your skin became tired,Your heart became strong,The present became the past,And your memories like a song.And though the moment at hand is all that we have, You’ve taught me to live it like it is our last.Since two words don't say ‘thank you’ the way they are meant to,I'll try all my life to be something like you.
Crystal Woods
The Everlasting Staircase"Jeffrey McDanielWhen the call came, saying twenty-four hours to live,my first thought was: can't she postpone her exitfrom this planet for a week? I've got places to do,people to be. Then grief hit between the ribs,said disappear or reappear more fully. so I boardeda red eyeball and shot across America,hoping the nurses had enough quarters to keepthe jukebox of Grandma's heart playing. She grew uppoor in Appalachia. And while world war IIfunctioned like Prozac for the Great Depression,she believed poverty was a double feature,that the comfort of her adult years was merelyan intermission, that hunger would hobble back,hurl its prosthetic leg through her window,so she clipped, clipped, clipped -- became the JacquesCousteau of the bargain bin, her wetsuitstuffed with coupons. And now --pupils fixed, chindangling like the boots of a hanged man --I press my ear to her lampshade-thin chestand listen to that little soldier march toward whateverplateau, or simply exhaust his arsenal of beats.I hate when people ask if she even knew I was there.The point is I knew, holding the one-sidedconversation of her hand. Once I believed the heartwas like a bar of soap -- the more you use it,the smaller it gets; care too much and it'll snap offin your grasp. But when Grandma's last breathwaltzed from that room, my heart openedwide like a parachute, and I realized she didn't die.She simply found a silence she could call her own.
Jeffrey McDaniel
When she smiles, the lines in her face become epic narratives that trace the stories of generations that no book can replace.
Curtis Tyrone Jones
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