Perhaps you didn’t know a commemoration could take place at Chili’s.

It can, but only with an Old Timer with cheese in one hand (NEVER SET IT DOWN!) and a conveyor belt of french fries saturated with ketchup from basket → mouth in the other.

That was my Grandma Joan (old timer with cheese, 1/2 Modelo).

She loved her Chili’s.

Over the weekend, my family assembled there to commemorate the ten year anniversary of her death, and mostly — to celebrate her life.

I loved my Grandma Joan dearly.

I almost left that “loved” in the present tense, because that’s how she feels to me: like she never left. I’m sure many of you can relate.

My memories of her since she passed have taken on a life of their own, as grandparent’s personas often do. Meaning, it’s entirely possible my idea of her has evolved to only 50% likeness.

I say possible because, it’s also not possible.

How I remember her must be how she was because it is how she was to me.

Stalwart, cranky and kind, always drinking hot water that was too hot to drink, always hollering at the ref from behind her next-coming grandchild’s in progress baby blanket, always warning me of the unknown consequences of partaking in “the marijuana,” always reminding me when I was sad or missing someone, “how lucky you are to have felt something so powerful and beautiful to miss” …Always listening. Always paying attention.

At dinner, I sat next to my Great Aunt Kate (big mouth bites, white wine), my grandmother’s sister.

They had a complicated relationship. I’d be lying if I said my firmly allegiant, nearly-religious adoration of my Grandma hadn’t dimmed if not completely snuffed out any interest I might have had in my Aunt Kate, to no fault of her own.

She was – as they say – on the back burner of my “interest in the older generation” stove. 

I selfishly would have rather been seated next to my brother (cheeseburger, beer) and his partner Brian (smokehouse combo, beer), whom I adore and are always a good time, but I was late and took the last seat next to Aunt Kate.

Of course the level of conversation you can have with someone you see weekly is going to be vastly different than the level of conversation you can have with someone you see maybe once a year.

So I turned to Aunt Kate and asked “So, what’s new with you?”

To my surprise and moderate horror, she laughed.

And then I laughed.

Because actually, that is a ridiculous question.

“What’s new… (laughs again, tosses up her hands)… I mean (almost snorts) nothing’s new, Hannah!”

Oh, how beautiful it is to be 80+ and snort at others with zero inhibition.

Mortified by my C- conversational skill, I faded into the background while my cousin Ben (chicken crispers, 16oz Modelo) and his partner Lili (chicken crispers Nashville hot chicken, also 16oz Modelo) announced they did in fact have something new to report: they’d moved to a new apartment.

Saved.

I hung back while Aunt Kate flexed B+ conversational questions like: How are you liking it, how are the neighbors, and is it bothersome being that close to the University of Denver campus (genius).

I started thinking about what if Grandma Joan was there.

She likely would have laughed at my question same as Aunt Kate, or maybe not even laughed and shot me the classic, “are you kidding me?” disapproving furrow I used to receive for picking on my siblings, like: “do better, Hannah.”

This was a woman who back in 2008 decided she, personally, was going to be the reason I stopped using the conversational crutch “like,” and would sit and count on her fingers the number of times I used it while I sweat Bologna’s through my fuchsia and gold striped Old Navy halter top in minutes.

Never rude, never in my face, just …. sitting there….. Counting.

Of course it worked.

This was a woman who raised five children while her husband worked 80 hours a week as an allergist and she kept her own career as a nurse, not because she needed a career but because she wanted one.

She was thoughtful.

She used to set aside newspaper clippings on the front table in her entryway, labeled with her children’s, grandchildren’s and friend’s names; articles she thought you must read.

She once jumped into her backyard pool fully clothed to pull two-year-old me out after I had accidentally walked in while my dad was mowing the lawn.

She was larger than life.

And as much as I think she might have rolled her eyes at my question, I also think she might have had a real answer. Because even into the last years of her life, there was always something “new” with Grandma Joan.

Something new she’d read, something new she’d watched, some new knitting pattern she was trying or new harassing criticism to hurl at the ref during her fifth grandchild’s sports game that day.

She was always evolving, always learning.

And in the wake of my lame-ass question to Aunt Kate, I had a non-lame realization.

I want to make sure I am always that way. Always intentionally learning, reading, bettering myself, encountering newness. Not only does it make for an interesting person, it makes for an interesting life.

We’re to the part where I could flip this into a cheesy, obtuse promo for why you should subscribe to Option Pit Research, but really – I just wanted to share.

If this was something you liked reading – and you’d like to read more personal articles like this, please leave a comment below or you can send it to me directly at [email protected].

Else we can get  back to regular scheduled programming. 

Thanks for reading, 

Hannah (Old timer with cheese, 1/2 Modelo)