So Valentine's weekend has slipped by and I hardly noticed, a lot like when I was married. It was a good choice, coming northward.

I'm still at Mom and Dad's place. I can hear chickadees calling outside; Dad always keeps the birds fed, and a mental tally of what kind have been here. The chickadees, of course, are here no matter what season. I love their little song, it's peaceful somehow, and cheery. It's a confident two-note tone, that leaves me with the feeling chickadees are optimistically resigned to being happy. Hahah. Okay, it's a girly brain thing. Never mind.

I miss Grandma a lot this time of year. Actually all times of year, but especially now.

Sometimes when I drive north on 371 past Pine River, I get an overwhelming ache to stop and see her. She'd been there in town, for so many years, it was hard for me to ever get a sense she wasn't there any more. My brain knew it, but my heart didn't.

Gram was always there when you needed her. And she was always there when you didn't know you needed her.

It was the biggest treat ever to go and stay with her when we were little. That was back in the days when they lived over the store. Her home seemed all sunshiny, and full of everything I was interested in. Grandma did some pretty fancy crocheting. It's a talent I fiercely admire now, and wish I were better at. She generally had some kind of creative project going on at all given times, and that probably planted the creative seed in me.

I remember one afternoon when Aunt Betts was old enough to drive and was visiting at our house. I was dying to go stay with her and Grandma, and was pretty sure I was going to get the magical invitation. Just before she wrapped up her visit ( I was on pins and needles with excitement by this time, because this was the up-north way - a nonchalant mention at the end of a visit, "Do you want to come back and stay over at Grandma's?"), she said to Dad, "Can Patty come and stay over night?"

Oof, the disapointment I felt can't be described here. I tried not to care, she wasn't trying to exclude me, she and Pat were just a little closer in age, and she sort of forgot about me. Let's see, I was hurt and sad, but I didn't dare say anything because then Dad would immediately say neither of us could go. He carried some suspicions that townie living was bad for us somehow, and he couldn't always be counted on to give permission to stay at Gram's as it was. Mom, who was much more likely to say we could go, was working her nursing shift at the hospital.

The rotten cherry on the sundae was that after my sister left, all merrily and smiles, I had to do the dinner dishes by myself, a chore we ALWAYS shared. Dang it. As I started washing the plates and glasses, and pitying my poor abondoned self, tears trickled from my eyes. I tried not to let anyone see, but Dad did, right away. He asked me what was wrong. I could hear in his voice, that he was already beginning to wonder if it was about what he thought it was... so I cut him off at the pass. "I don't feel good," I said, and I didn't have to conjure up a sad face, as I already felt miserable.

He told me to go rest on the couch for a while, and he would finish washing up. This was really rare event in our house; Dad attended to the outdoor chores and Dad-type things, and he never did the dishes.

I felt guilty, but if I told the truth, he would surely put the kabosh on future sleep-overs at Grams.

Snuggled under my pillow and blanket on the couch, I heard a knock at the back door, the driveway side of the house. I heard my Dad go answer it. I heard Aunt Betts say, "We were thinking Mary might like to stay over too, so we came back to get her."

I heard my Dad say, "Oh, she can't. She's sick."