Yeah, you missed it. I reached 43 yesterday, and I know you missed it, because everybody outside my immediate family did. Blew it off. Could have sent me a present. What a bunch of hosers. — I’m kidding. I don’t care.

I spent a quiet day with my family, which is what I wanted. We went to visit my Grandma, in a care facility in the San Joaquin Valley. She’s 93, though time has become something of an abstraction for her. She thinks I’m in my twenties, and was pretty incredulous when we told her I’m 43.

I love my Grandma. She always took such good care of me, in that way that grandmothers hold us in the world and make us feel safe and unconditionally loved. Spoiled is a better word, I guess.

After that visit, we went to the local cemetery, where we have seven relatives buried, including my other three grandparents. It was very warm – about 94 degrees in the shade – but there were lots of people there. They were placing flowers, praying, and in one case gathering on a grave for a family photo and lots of laughter. To each his own.

We weren’t laughing much. But it was good. A time to connect and assess our losses I suppose. Rumi said that everything comes down to loving and not loving. To me, it’s more like loving and holding on, then letting go.