So it goes.

I'm at the point in my life that I think a lot about my grandparents.  I'm lucky to still have three of them alive but they're in their golden years.  "Chick" is in a nursing home with good and bad days, mostly bad.  Pop, who is at least 80, visits her twice a day and still drives cross country for his hunting trips.  The thing about my Grandpa and hunting is that in all the years, I've never known him to kill anything.  He just really likes to camp and cook outdoors.

"Dee" was just accepted into a retirement home/card playing house.  Most days she's still sharp but since Papa Charles died she's convinced herself that she's broke.  Papa Charles died 18 years ago.  I didn't cry at his funeral but loved the man with all of my heart.

Life is funny.  If I do have kids they will never know my Grandparents.  I only remember my Great Grandma Molly and her making making me fruit crepes in an old rickety house.  I've heard many stories about my great grandparents but Molly is the only one I can put a face to the story.  And no matter what story it is I always think about her in a moo moo dress and that creepy old stuffed toy lion in her living room.

In the grand scheme we're just rain drops in the ocean, our stories to be recycled and lived out by new generations.  I'm fine with that.

A fallen head of Buddha that a tree grew around.