My Iraqi-American friend has an essay in the NY Times today (here it is but you'll have to register to read it--free of charge) about her procrastination before traveling to Washington DC to cast a vote in the Iraqi elections. She put off going because her 18-month-old daughter had only recently recovered from bronchitis, and then it started snowing badly. . . but then she remembered a letter her grandfather sent her when she was 10. Here's the letter translated:
''My dear daughter, what beautiful days and nights you spent here in your country (dear Iraq!) that misses you and yearns to see you always. . . . Remember us as we remember you. Perhaps remembrance will bring closer those who are far. And remember a grandfather who sings of you and drinks his tears instead of wine.''
And then she voted. I've been weeping on and off since reading that letter. It strikes me as one of those cherishable grandparent-grandchild exchanges. I thought it was worth sharing.