I used to phone my grandmother every Saturday morning. Although Benedetta died few years ago at age 106, on some Saturday mornings I still wake up ready to dial her number.

We’d start out the same way:

“How are you, Grandma?”

“I’ve got a frog in my throat,” she’d say, followed by a dramatic clearing of her throat. After that, the conversation might head in any direction:

1. Cautionary Tales: “You making lentils for supper? Check for stones. They could break your teeth.” (Okay, Grandma. I’ll check for stones.)
2. Current Events: “Poor Michael Jackson. An overdose? His doctor is a quack. Belongs in jail.” (My grandmother fixated on this topic for months. Who knew she was a Michael Jackson fan? I’d only heard Tennessee Ernie Ford crooning from her stereo.)
3. Romantic Advice: “Why buy the cow if you’re getting the milk for free?” (Duly noted, Grandma. I’ll avoid distributing free milk.)

Many years ago, I visited Benedetta during spring break from college. Somehow, I misplaced my Bible while traveling. I inquired around. My friends hadn’t seen it. I didn’t bother asking Benedetta, figuring she would have told me if she’d it.

Years later, I spotted that same Bible on Benedetta’s table. When I expressed surprise, she said, “Oh yes, I know the Bible is yours, but I kept it so I could get to know you better. I read and re-read your notes and underlined verses.”

Before she died, Benedetta gave me her journal, called TheDaily Manna.  Published in1925, the volume contained a page for each day of the year. On that page was a scripture and space for notes.

Now, I pore through the journal, searching for clues about Benedetta. Tucked in the pages, she kept photos, news clippings, birth announcements, and records of marriages, divorces and deaths. At seven, she and her three younger sisters lost their pregnant mother to pneumonia. At thirteen, she had to quit school and work at a thread mill to help support her family that now included eight more step-siblings. At twenty, she married my grandfather, Gaetano. On her twenty-first birthday, she gave birth to my mother, Eva, the first of her five children.

When she was about 100, Benedetta confided that she felt shocked every time she saw an older face staring back at her from the mirror. She said, “In my mind’s eye, I still think of myself as twelve years old.”

At 103, she was the oldest person in her nursing home and one of the oldest people in Connecticut. During her birthday celebration, a reporter asked if she was excited about the party. Without one bit of irony, she said, “All I really want is a nice, hot cup of coffee. They serve it lukewarm…because of all them old people who live here.”

The reporter ended the interview by asking her secret to longevity. She said, “Lead a clean life. No goofing around.”

No goofing around?

Grandma, I have to tell you, I’m working hard on not goofing around. I check my lentils for stones. I stay away from medical quacks. And, in order to ensure that my cow sales stay brisk, I avoid giving away free milk.

I have a granddaughter now.  I hope that when she is older, she’ll call and I’ll be able to pass on my own cautionary tales, which, in my case, she will probably find more ridiculous than instructive.