Tonight, my mom is making chicken alfredo and asked me to cut up the veggies. While I was slicing, I began to wonder about what my paternal grandmother was like. She died when I was two, so I don't remember her. I wondered if she liked to cook, or if she didn't. What, if she did, she liked to cook. What she wished she could cook but didn't have the time/money to make.
It's always bugged me that I have no ties to my dad or his side of the family. It's like, I have this whole half of myself that I know nothing about. Both my grandparents on his side died before I was five years old.
I used to have a bond with that side through my Grandma Pauline, who was my grandfather's mother. She was the greatest. About once a week for about two or three (maybe even four) years I would go out to her house on Lapeer and we would drink Diet Coke while playing Chinese checkers. She would tell me about "Bobby" while we watched her soap together, pointing out pictures of my dad as a graduate. Eventually, the visits stopped happening. Maybe she got sick and couldn't take my rambunctious nature. In any case, she died when I was a senior in high school. I miss her.
Wow, all that from slicing some cheap-o peppers for dinner. I should cook more often. I liked my Grandma Pauline. Thinking about her makes me happy and it wouldn't kill me to be happy more often.
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