I have been thinking about you a lot in the past week, so I thought I would write you a letter.

After you died I had the strongest urge to send you a little postcard from my trip across the country. Driving your car, it seemed like you were always just on the tip of my mind, looking out for me. I joked a lot about how I even started driving like you. Something about being in your car made me feel both safer and the need to be extremely cautious. I never sent you the postcard I bought at Trees of Mystery because I just couldn't think of how to address it: Grandma Barbara, Heaven. What zip code would I use?

Your car is fabulous, by the way. I know you didn't really plan on me having it, but that's how things worked out. I send your old caretaker a check every month to pay for the car, and that pays her rent so we both benefit. We needed a new car, and there was yours, sitting in your garage. I know it was sitting because now the tires are all out of shape and we need to buy new ones. The guy at the garage told me that happens with tires when they sit too long- they lose their natural shape and get kind of flat. Not flat in the flat tire sense, just flattish. Anyway, we'll have to buy new tires pretty soon anyway because your tires are for california driving, not connecticut.

Speaking of connecticut and cars, your car got its first snow storm last week. We got almost six inches! I slid around a little bit, but in the end I made it through with no real damage. Now the car is covered in salt- I need to get it washed but I know as soon as I wash it snow will fall again and it's an ugly cycle.

You probably know this already, but sweets lost his grandmother this year too. We've been bonding over lost grandmas. I suspect he writes her a little letter every once in awhile as well.

Thanksgiving was different without calling you. I almost didn't call my living grandmother, just because I didn't have as strong a reminder to do so without having to call you too. It's funny how you were here and now you're not. It doesn't make a lot of sense if you think about it too hard.

My mom got new carpet for the house that your money bought. It's sage green- a color you would have picked. She and I talked about whether people could eat on the carpet, since that was something that you would have forbidden. She said she'd have to think about it, but there isn't much room for eating unless you eat on the carpet.

I don't think about how much I miss you very often. You and I weren't terribly close, but I always was comforted knowing you were proud of me and what I've done in my life.

I was just sitting in my living room and I got the strongest feeling about you. When they divided up your house, I said that I really wanted the red afghan with the hearts in it. Somehow the aunts decided to give it to me, and it's sitting on my couch right now. I have to tell you, my little cat has fallen in love with that afghan- she will sit on it and knead it and purr purr so loudly, it's like you're there petting her. I just wanted to send you a thank you note for the afghan, I guess. and while I'm at it, thanks for the car, too. and for all those encouraging words when I left california to start this chapter in my life.

thanks.

I miss you.

lovelola.