Pete Fanning

My grandmother lived an extraordinary life, but for me it was the little moments that made her so great.   —- One evening, not long after my parents split up, I found myself sulking through an evening at my grandparents’ house. Nana was on babysitting duty, and things weren’t going so well for five-year-old me. Their house was angular and wide open, seventies fashion with shag carpet, high ceilings, and a clock on the mantel that boomed creepy bell tolls on the hour every hour. It was strange, and I wanted to go home. I wanted my what I knew. I wanted my parents, and at some point, I found myself tucked away in her office. The windows shined black with night. My little makeshift bed was laid out on the floor. I sat at her desk, my hand against my cheek, staring at a picture of our family taken not so long ago. In the picture, I stood proudly with my father and grandfather. On the couch sat my cousins, my aunts, my sister and my mother. Everyone was smiling, everyone looked happy. N