Grandest, now age six and a half, goes to half day summer camp. I drove her first day since daughter, voted best of the best or something wonderful at her school, still had one day left to work. I’m the go-to Granny. Blond hair already askew, she marched confidently in waving to everyone from last year. The differ this time is the way she introduced me.
“This is Granny. She writes books. Her new book is called “Farewell,” she tugged on my shorts. “Grans, what’s the next word of your funny title.”
“Isn’t that backwards?” By now she had the attention of counselors and parents.
“No. Young lovers say farewell when the boy goes off to war. Years go by and she doesn’t know if they’ll ever meet again.”
“Oh, I get it. Then she says Hello. Cool. Yay.”
“And you know you can get free four chapters of Farewell, Hello by using a certain link.” But by now she was playing with some kids forgetting about Grans.
“I’ll see you at noon.” My feet dance across the gymnasium floor as I leave.
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