bye grandma

From my dad:
Grandma Esther died today at 10:50am today.
She was happy because she never wore glasses, never broke a bone in any of her falls, never used a walker and never was in a nursing home.
She always wanted to die in her sleep - and she did.
Grandma was a terrible cook and knew it. Going to visit her meant finger sandwiches or the diner. She had impeccable and unwavering taste; the apartment was painted the same two colors forever, the furniture was in perfect shape and straight out of a 1960's sitcom, and she owned one simple, practical gold watch.
She was fiercely independent, loved to talk, ate like a bird, and always walked everywhere.
When I was young she would stock up on really bad kids cereal like Lucky Charms (which made my parents unhappy but my brother and I ecstatic) and state matter-of-fact-ly how she used to work as a secretary at the nearby prison and I am pretty sure the inmates were more afraid of her than she was of them.
She used her typing skills from those days to type up grandpa's college papers (he didn't go to college until decades after his kids.)
The first time my wife met her, we were driving to the diner and she kept going on and on about "kids these days with their pants hanging off their butts saying 'Mutha f**ka' this and 'Mutha f**ka' that"; this sweet old lady swearing like a hardened sailor and not batting an eyelash in the slightest.
She took no lip, expected no pity, gave bony hugs and pinched cheeks excessively. She loved bragging about her grandkids, and her global travels with Grandpa, and keeping things tidy, and balancing her checkbook.
And now she is with Grandpa, and being the terribly practical woman she always was, I doubt very much she would want anyone to be bothered very much at all, and so I will simply say: good-bye.

hummingbirds have just finished reading Hummingbirds, a novel written by Joshua Gaylord.
Not only was he one of my roommates in college, we went to junior high school together.
Until I read his novel, I always thought the poem "Cold Green Tile" that he wrote in 9th grade was his finest work. I can't remember the poem anymore, but I do still remember how it affected me with a deep and brilliant sense of melancholy.
Hummingbirds has the same insightful brilliance; it is subtle and consuming and I was, quite literally, crouched on my kitchen floor late at night whilst my wife prepared the kids' lunches for school the next day, devouring the last chapters of the book, as I knew I was incapable of going to bed without finishing it.
Great work, Schwa! What you NEED to do is: keep writing awesomeness.