As Grandma’s faded straw hat, dripping umbrella, and fuchsia dotted handbag

Recover in the foyer, she’s rolling around our home like a hyped up tumbleweed.

Whipping up batter for cookies, yapping on the phone to Mom, feeding Fido

Carrot sticks, all while watching her favorite TV show. “How are you doing all this?”

I ask. “I’m a woman,” she says, “I can handle anything.”