Why? Because!

My grandchildren will never know me as an adult, and that's not fair.

I always wanted to know my grandparents as more than the ones in Texas who shook their shoulders and turned red but did not make a sound when they laughed. They were the ones who snored so loudly I had a hard time going to sleep in the next room. Or the ones closer to us geographically. They were polar opposites: he big, raw-boned and brusque; she tiny and quick with a twinkle in her eye.

I heard recently--by the way, I remember a lot of what I hear so I can appear smart when I repeat it--that it takes only two generations for a person to be forgotten. That bothers me. No one should forget Roy Carroll or Jim Hall or Lois Anderson or Marguerite McCaskill or Hank Greer or Paul Bullington or Helen Maples. And to be perfectly honest and narcissistic, I don't want to be forgotten either.

Because I love my grandchildren (born and yet to be born). Because I've been invisible in many ways for a great deal of my life. And because they may one day wonder why they remember the words to songs that were written before 1950 or why symmetry makes a difference in sentence structure or interior design or why they bite their fingernails or--my goodness, there are so many "becauses" that I want them to know about.

And, I get to give them my version of stuff!