Unforgotten

Don't fret, Grandma, you're not forgotten 
after all; hear that musical little ping? 
That's your email messaging you of another 
arrival made simple despite distance. It's your 
favourite - sorry - your only grandchild. All 
the more priceless and cherished, remembering 
you. A long, loving and detailed missive, 
grammar perfect, spelling also, filling in on 
the last memorable conversation: What's up 
with you guys?  She missed a few days of
classes; buses not running - severely inclement 
weather days the culprit. Finished reading 
The Book of Negroes you recommended, now 
eager to read others.  An "I told you so" moment, 
she cheerily admits. Best friend gave her
The Art of Racing in the Rain for Christmas.  
The book kind of teaches life lessons through 
the eyes of a dog, she explains, then goes on to 
elaborate on the plot, hoping the dog doesn't die
on the last page, a writing device she loathes
and anticipates.  The cover art is adorable -
see, she has photoed it as an attachment. She pored 
over clothing inventory online at American Eagle, 
chose what she wanted, went to the mall (crowded 
and gross) but they had only just the ugly plain crap
and clearance stuff no one wants any more.
Her longtime school chum Tyler, mentioned
his dad suggested taking him on a trip to look at 
universities during March break, and said he could 
invite a few friends, so she's thinking wouldn't 
it be fun! to map out the different schools 
they'd want to check out.  Love.