I was telling Anthony at dinner Tuesday night that I needed to go home and visit my grandmother. I’ve written about her here many times before. She’s now 96, nonverbal and mostly cloudy in a long term care center in Louisville. Still when I look into her steely blue eyes I can tell she recognizes me. I need to go and brush her hair (still a thick head of white hair!) and massage her hands with some lotion. Her skin is like tissue paper – like fragile filo dough. You can see her veins slighly pulse beneath her skin. Seeing her puts all of my millenial annoyances to rest. It grounds me again.