The Ruffled Crow

I had a wonderfully eccentric Grandmother. A short, fire-plug shaped woman who taught me how to use the local bus system. Most of the time, though, she herself walked. All over the north end of Seattle you could find her puttering along with her collapsible pull-basket which was often full of books. Sometimes she’d bring home flowers from her walks. Always a neighbor’s flowers, but she was careful so no one ever showed up at the door.

She taught me the power of omission. She was that kind of Grandma. The kind of grandparent I want to be, with a big dash of this grandfather…