Saturday, March 24, 2012


Rainy day and chilly. I took Lanie to her modern dance class this afternoon. She is happy to go and show friends her earrings. I wait a few minutes until the class starts up. A woman chats me with a little ballerina in tow.

"What class is this?" she asks, raising the little one to the one-way glass to see the dancers inside.

"Modern," I say.

"It's not ballet," she explains to the little one in her tutu. She looks to be grandmotherly. I watch them get ready. Grandma puts on a red jacket and I see the back of it, white lettering announcing "The Red Coconut Club" from someplace in Florida. It's probably much warmer there than where we are today.

"You're a long way from The Red Coconut Club," I remark.

"It was my father's jacket," she explains. "He spent winter months in Florida in an RV. He passed away last year. I kept his jacket."

I smile at her, warmly, as I am moved. This woman, a grandmother, toting grandchild to class, wrapped in her father's memory on a cold, rainy day.

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