My lovely, willowy, ethereal and enigmatic granddaughter, Hannah Margaret, is 10 years old today. She was born at a very tumultuous time in my life, when I was going through unbelievable changes. I have never lived anywhere close to her and have spent a mere pittance of time with her over the last ten years, much to my anguish and regret. Hannah is refreshingly tall (so many short genes floating around on both sides) and oh, so beautiful with those big, wide eyes and impish little smile. She loves anything frilly and feminine, and her world consists of everything pink, purple, feathery and glittery. Hannah wore only dresses for years and just recently started wearing pants...it's a good thing, since she helps her Daddy run his Boy Scout camp in the mountains of Nevada. Last year Hannah brought home a gopher snake - a shock to those of us who think of Hannah cozied up with a book, her dozens of Barbies and a kitty-cat or two. Hannah is relaxed and perfectly comfortable on the back of her father's motorcycle, zooming down the highway holding on to the cissy bar. She already knits, crochets, felts and sews. Hannah and her brother Luke are coming to visit me next week and I can hardly believe it. I can almost taste the scrambled eggs she made for me every day during her last visit, plucked from the nest minutes before.
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