Microwave Oven Light

I'm crabby for no ostensible reason this evening, except for the stress of a new school year starting and one of our mortgage payments not getting processed due to the greed of another exec at TB&W. But that's life. Today a friend of mine facebooked how much she missed her dad as today would have been another birthday for him. That's real life, important life.

My crabbiness rarely stays inside me very well. Usually little mini crabs creep out even though as I see a leg poking out and try to crush it, it somehow hurries to the point of no turning back and shapow, its out there ready for hot butter sauce, a plastic bib with a picture of a lobster on it, and a wet chin.
So after I picked shell shrapnel off my favorite chin and cleaned him up with the wetnap, I walked into the dark kitchen to put a cup into the dishwasher. I couldn't see and to avoid yet another bruising, since I always seem to run into the stove handle, I Helen Kellered my way to the microwave oven light. I thought it had one, wasn't sure, thought I was going to defrost whatever the large children had splattered in there today, when bam-there was light. And then a memory. A memory so clear that I was taken somewhere so far away in space and time and yet nowhere.
Several memories actually. Of that little kitchen light. My Grandma Nina (pronounced like nine) would always leave that welcome light on above her sink in case we had to brave the stairwell for a midnight porcelain rendezvous. My Grandma Cade would also leave some kind of "go towards the light" shine, but I think hers was to catch the pre-dawn snackers. There was a family my brother, sister, and I stayed with in Oklahoma while our parents went on a retreat. The dad was the pastor of the Church of Christ in town and I remember they had a kum-buy-ya guide "So ya'll can git a drink if ya git thirsty".
How does that happen? How does one touch of a button transport you to light bulb heaven?
Will my legacy have touches, smells, and sensations that brings them to say "Hi Grandma, I miss you."?
Not if these mini crabs keep escaping. Maybe I'll nuke em in the micrawave and we'll have patata salad and biskits with em tamaraw.

That's important life. Legacies that bring warm fuzzies. And to Grandma Chapman, this is Susie. Thank you for leaving me your quick to laugh, bald, toothless, garage saling on a three wheeled bike, bacon frying legacy. My times with you and your kitchen light were priceless. I miss you.