Initiations Come From Life
When my maternal grandmother died, I was sad. She was the one that took both me and my sister under her granny wings and told us stories over and over. My parents sent us to my grandparents’ every summer. The house smelled grandparents like peace of mind and permission to do things mom and dad did not approve. And there was always a little bit of money given to us to buy snacks, ice-cream and candy, lots of it. And unlimited playtime. And just before afternoon naps or before we went to sleep at night, we would get under a blanket with grandma and her voice would change; she was becoming the once upon a time story that was to follow. None of them was coming out of books; all…