Grandma had a photo up her sleeve tonight. At least that's where it seemed to come from, anyway, since it magically appeared in her hand during dinner tonight before she reached across the table to give it to me.
"Moira, I found this," she said.
I was 3 years old--almost 4, actually, when the picture was taken. I was next to Jeff, the faithful family dog who followed me around almost as much as I followed him. Jeff was put down in 1977, when he was 12. I have vivid memories of feeding him from the kitchen table and sitting quietly with him, playing with his fur. Here, a few months before my birthday and Jeff's quiet slip into Dog Heaven, we sat looking out at nighttime on Emma Road.
Kinda reminds me of someone.