The phone rang almost every morning
that summer of my sophomore year.
And if I didn’t answer it rang again.
“I lost my game and I can’t find it.”
I would drag my fifteen year old body
out of bed too early for summer vacation
and trudge four houses down the block
to where my grandma stood with the door open.
“I let you sleep in, I’ve been up since six.”
As I fished the window with her bridge game
back from wherever she’d slid it
she’d say the same thing:
“Haven’t I lived in an amazing time?
From oil lamps to light bulbs
and wood stoves to electric blankets.
The Model T to airplanes and a man on the moon.
From radio to T.V.
and now these computers.
Didn’t I pick a wonderful time to be born?”