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I WAS RUMMAGING AROUND IN MY BRAIN for something that would generate a morsel of interest to tell you about and what I'd planned on building my little tale upon was a particular bridge that spans a highway a few miles from my house. This bridge is one that I was accustomed to traveling over with frequency, but it's been closed for months and necessitated an inconvenient detour. How pleasant to discover today that that bridge is back in service.

As I composed the brief story (only semi-engaging, at best), however, an opportunity came along to talk about another very different kind of bridge. One could call it...hmm, well...let's say a bridge from "Not-yet-here" to "Hey, you're a grandma!"

The story of this bridge, my goodness--this is the story of the foot-high headlines, is it not?!

As I write, the bridge is most definitely open for travel. Yes, the nervous grandmother-to-be is standing on the "Not-yet-here" side and peering into the darkness, waiting for a call that it's been safely traversed. She is saying to the old man who ate dinner with her, "Next time you walk right by the dishwasher and put your dirty plate in the sink, you could be a grandfather, you know!" and later she says, "Next time you let the dog out and go for a bedtime snack, you're likely to be a grandfather, you know!"

Finally she says, "Next time you climb out of that chair and go clumping upstairs in your ratty old slippers, you're sure to be a grandfather, you know!" And then she recharges her cell phone battery and recharges the battery on her camera and restlessly paces the floor.

I suppose, Dear Reader, you'll just have to leave her there pondering what time she should go to bed, thinking of all the bridges she's ever known and the grandchild who's crossing this one. You can be sure I'll speedily scribble further news of her grandmotherly status when further news has transpired.


(...to be cont'd...oh, definitely!)