Today is National Grandparents Day. As I write this column, my 90-year-old Mimi's health is failing. Her bones are brittle; her mind is confused; and her chestnut-colored hair - which she always kept perfectly permed and coated with Aqua Net - has finally gone flat.
Still, when I think of Mimi, I do not think of a frail woman. I remember the person she was when I was child: Curt but kind, outspoken in true Philadelphia, Pa., fashion.
Lips pursed, fist on hip, she used to serve us waffles and vanilla ice cream for dinner. And for dessert? Fresh fruit - with which, even after getting ice cream for dinner, I was still disappointed.
I'm sure I voiced my discontent. And I'm sure Mimi put me in my place. I recognize her candid nature in myself these days. And I think of her waffle and ice cream dinners so often. Tonight, I think I'll make it in her honor. I'll raise my fork to Mimi, to the sweet memories.