The Boston Girl

But maybe you’d like to come with me? It’s such a beautiful part of the country and you’ve never been. You’re not going to have time for a real vacation once school starts and it would be my treat. Just you and me. As much as your Brian loves me, he’s not going to want to go on vacation with his grandmother-in-law. If you get married, that is.

Oh no. Maybe I am becoming a yenta after all!

But think about it anyway.

—

It was a little uncomfortable, all those birthday speeches about what an amazing human being I am. But hearing your mother and aunt say how lucky they are to have me as their mother? That’s a level of naches everyone should know.

Still, I have to tell you, it was a little like being at my own funeral. Which reminds me, I want you to make sure there is just as much joking and laughing when I die. You were the funniest of all: I can’t believe you told them that we smoked pot on my eightieth birthday.

Maybe you’ll put that in when you do the eulogy. And please, you do it. It would be too hard for your mother or your aunt, and it’s always so moving when a grandchild speaks.

Don’t look at me that way. I’m fine. The doctor said she only hopes she’s as healthy as me when she’s eighty-five. And anyway, there is no way I’m dying before I get to hear someone call you Rabbi Ava Miller.

I keep trying to imagine what my father would say about his great-granddaughter becoming a rabbi. I think his head would explode.

Rabbinical school is five years, right? So I’ll be ninety when you graduate. Oh, excuse me, when you’re ordained.

Now there’s something to look forward to.