It’s so vivid, the memory I have of my grandmother. My beloved Nonnie. I can still picture her precisely. I can still picture sitting in her kitchen as she served up the most perfect toast I’ve ever had. It was perfect. Always. I can still hear the tone of her voice, asking gleefully of course, what she could feed me. “You want some cookies? You want some ice cream? You want a punch in the nose?” The accent was always on ice. Always. I remember talking to my Nonnie on her 82nd birthday. She was ironing my Uncle’s shirts and sounded so excited about it. “There must be 10 or 12 shirts here!” Had I known it was the last time I would speak with her, I would have never hung up the phone. She died suddenly 4 days later. That was 30 years ago. And yet, she remains vivid. ALWAYS.