san fransisco

Lately I've been thinking, and writing, a bit about how we honor our ancestors.  Not necessarily the folks who came centuries ago, but those who we've known in our own lifetime.  Those special people who are one or two or, if we are lucky, three generations older.

It seems that in the busy of our every day we can so easily forget that the men and women who came a few generations before us had the busy of their every days.

So how can we remember them?  Honor them?

I've been thinking about that.

Even though all of my grandparents and my husband's grandparents had passed before our first child was born, I want to make real for them the love that we felt for and from them earlier in our lives.

So at lunch, when I poured a cup of hot tea for Little Brother into a mug featuring a sketch of the Golden Gate Bridge I talked about my paternal Grandma.  She loved San Fransisco.

And Little Brother kept asking questions, and we talked about the bridge, and that Grandma had been there, and that boats go underneath.


We listened to "I Left My Heart in San Fransisco" after lunch.  One of her favorite songs.

I showed him the picture of her in the upstairs hallway.

And I felt it.  The honoring.