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Gramps
is
staring
into
the
dregs
of
his
Styrofoam
cup
,
peeling
away
the
top
of
it
so
that
little
white
balls
collect
in
his
lap
.
I
can
tell
it
’
s
the
worst
kind
of
swill
,
the
kind
that
looks
like
it
was
brewed
in
1997
and
has
been
sitting
on
a
burner
ever
since
.
Even
so
,
I
wouldn
’
t
mind
a
cup
.
You
can
draw
a
straight
line
from
Gramps
to
Dad
to
Teddy
,
although
Gramps
’
s
wavy
hair
has
gone
from
blond
to
gray
and
he
is
stockier
than
Teddy
,
who
is
a
stick
,
and
Dad
,
who
is
wiry
and
muscular
from
afternoon
weight
-
lifting
sessions
at
the
Y
.
But
they
all
have
the
same
watery
gray
-
blue
eyes
,
the
color
of
the
ocean
on
a
cloudy
day
.
Maybe
this
is
why
I
now
find
it
hard
to
look
at
Gramps
.
Juilliard
was
Gran
’
s
idea
.
She
’
s
from
Massachusetts
originally
,
but
she
moved
to
Oregon
in
1955
,
on
her
own
.
Now
that
would
be
no
big
deal
,
but
I
guess
fifty
-
two
years
ago
it
was
kind
of
scandalous
for
a
twenty
-
two
-
year
-
old
unmarried
woman
to
do
that
kind
of
thing
.
Gran
claimed
she
was
drawn
to
wild
open
wilderness
and
it
didn
’
t
get
more
wild
than
the
endless
forests
and
craggy
beaches
of
Oregon
.
She
got
a
job
as
a
secretary
working
for
the
Forest
Service
.
Gramps
was
working
there
as
a
biologist
.
We
go
back
to
Massachusetts
sometimes
in
the
summers
,
to
a
lodge
in
the
western
part
of
the
state
that
for
one
week
is
taken
over
by
Gran
’
s
extended
family
.
That
’
s
when
I
see
the
second
cousins
and
great
aunts
and
uncles
whose
names
I
barely
recognize
.
I
have
lots
of
family
in
Oregon
,
but
they
’
re
all
from
Gramps
’
s
side
.
Last
summer
at
the
Massachusetts
retreat
,
I
brought
my
cello
so
I
could
keep
up
my
practicing
for
an
upcoming
chamber
-
music
concert
.
The
flight
wasn
’
t
full
,
so
the
stewardesses
let
it
travel
in
a
seat
next
to
me
,
just
like
the
pros
do
it
.
Teddy
thought
this
was
hilarious
and
kept
trying
to
feed
it
pretzels
.
At
the
lodge
,
I
gave
a
little
concert
one
night
,
in
the
main
room
,
with
my
relatives
and
the
dead
game
animals
mounted
on
the
wall
as
my
audience
.
It
was
after
that
that
someone
mentioned
Juilliard
,
and
Gran
became
taken
with
the
idea
.
At
first
,
it
seemed
far
-
fetched
.
There
was
a
perfectly
good
music
program
at
the
university
near
us
.
And
,
if
I
wanted
to
stretch
,
there
was
a
conservatory
in
Seattle
,
which
was
only
a
few
hours
’
drive
.
Juilliard
was
across
the
country
.
And
expensive
.
Mom
and
Dad
were
intrigued
with
the
idea
of
it
,
but
I
could
tell
neither
one
of
them
really
wanted
to
relinquish
me
to
New
York
City
or
go
into
hock
so
that
I
could
maybe
become
a
cellist
for
some
second
-
rate
small
-
town
orchestra
.
They
had
no
idea
whether
I
was
good
enough
.
In
fact
,
neither
did
I
.
Professor
Christie
told
me
that
I
was
one
of
the
most
promising
students
she
’
d
ever
taught
,
but
she
’
d
never
mentioned
Juilliard
to
me
.
Juilliard
was
for
virtuoso
musicians
,
and
it
seemed
arrogant
to
even
think
that
they
’
d
give
me
a
second
glance
.
