September 13, 2015
My grandmother was an old woman the day I met her. Her name was Bessie. Not short for anything, just Bessie. I lived in Colorado. She lived in Falls Creek, Pennsylvania. We only visited there a few times. Her room smelled of age, the floors echoed time, and creaked a history we grandchildren would learn little about.
She was an artist. She drew and she painted with all kinds of materials including the most detailed brown ink on paper imaginable.