In the midst of whatever I was doing this morning, I absent-mindedly bounced down the steps from a trip upstairs. The door at the bottom of the steps was mostly closed to make sure the baby didn't climb them while I ran up and back down. As I hit the landing and pushed that door open, the smell I remember distinctly as my Grandma's house overwhelmed me. I stood, frozen, in the sitting room.

My Gram has been gone for almost 6 years. In that moment, I expected to hear her calling "what would you like for lunch, Min?" and listing off 10 things only she would have in her house, thinking specifically of us when she bought them.

There are moments I barely think of my Grandma, honestly. And times I miss her so acutely. I have her things all around me, intentionally placed...used specifically to keep her in mind. My kitchen table. Her rolling pin. Her mother's pink sapphire ring. The piano. Some days I think of her as I use them. Some days I walk past and don't give them another thought. Today...she's all I can think about. How much my kids loved to spend time with her. What she would have said about the way things have worked out in my life. The huge bowls of ice cream she would have scooped when lunch was finished. The look she would have had on her face as she intently listened to Reasa talk about her most recent role-playing game. The days I miss her most, of course, always coincide with when I would have most liked to sit quietly with her...over a steaming cup of coffee (and probably a Drum sugar cookie)...listening to the kids hoot and holler in her yard. Talking about how to take care of those silly tomato plants. Or what to do about the squirrels in my bird feeders and eating my tulip bulbs. Or how different teaching was for her than it was for me.

This is a day when I miss her.