I Remember

That's the title of my great-grandmother's autobiography/family history book.

Dr. Bhatnagar was talking about history, and wondered if we could even remember the names of our great-grandfathers. Chet? Hmm. What seemed more important was my great-grandmother, Virgalene Edith Green (nay Hall).

I remember in the early 90's coming home from a diving trip to Hawaii with dad and Davin. We arrived at the house in Boulder City after an overnight flight (in which, it seems, I had consumed only half of a foot-long gargantuahoagie).

A black wreath, made of wide satin ribbon wrapped around what must have been a styrofoam ring, adorned the gate. The house I live in now doesn't have a gate--and the hook on the door is broken. If I died, they'd have to hot-glue or epoxy a wreath on.

At any rate, daytime and tiredness and the rest of a half-eaten gargantuahoagie are all I remember. Everytime I woke up throughout the day, I remembered my great-grandmother... The woman who always said, "That's my boy!" well into her sightless 90's. The woman who, when grandma Jean was out of the house, would immediately order us a pepperoni pizza from Tony's in Boulder City--from a $20 bill that seemed to perpetually exist in her brown diminutive purse. The woman who seems to come back to my brother and I in our dreams--happy Grandma Green.

Yes, I remember.