Remembrance: Touchstones

I was close with Grandpa. There are stories I tell to laugh and to remember:

* A bricklayer, Grandpa was a bit particular about dimensions and order. I used to visit Grandpa regularly and once (only once) had offered to clean and fill the ice cube trays. Lordy, the requirements that Grandpa dictated: 3/16 of an inch from the top! (Or something like that.)

* Grandpa and I both enjoyed Walker, Texas Ranger... for different reasons. But each Sunday when we visited, we'd talk about last night's episode.

* Approaching an anniversary for Grandma - was it her birthday? - I suggested that we go out to eat in her honor. "No," Grandpa answered gruffly, then more softly, "well, if you want to."

* Following Grandma's passing, Grandpa maintained the plants she loved: African violets, pothos vine, and Great-grandfather's rose bushes.

* Grandpa used to sharpen his and Grandma's kitchen knives - in fact, he sharpened a butter knife to just a fraction of its original size. When I used to give presentations on multicultural poetry to students, I often referenced Grandpa when discussing Dairin Soto's poem at the conclusion of his days:

"My whole life long
I've sharpened my sword
And now, face to face with death
I unsheathe it, and lo
The blade is broken
Alas."

* Grandpa's toolkit. Grandpa had an awesome shop in the basement of his home in old St Louis. Even when he moved into the nursing home, he took a small box of tools with him, just in case. I love those tools. I keep them in a decorative wooden box in our living room, always close.

Thanks to Alan Levine for his remembrance of his father, Morris Levine. Loved the segment on his dad's wallet.

I love you, Grandpa, and I miss you.