Up close and Bridget

This morning while driving to the Rocky, I received a tragic phone call: My grandmother had passed away at about 3 a.m. She had recently taken a fall and broken her hip, and while attempting to recover from the resulting surgery she acquired a MRSA drug-resistant infection. Within the past few days, her kidneys failed and she was developing pneumonia. She managed to eke out a final "I love you" to my mom before losing her ability to speak.

Helen Webb was 81 years old -- a member of the "Greatest Generation," and the leading lady in a love story (namely, marriage to my grandfather, for whom she waited to return from World War II) that flourished for more than 62 years until her passing. After she was diagnosed with macular degeneration 15 years ago and began losing her sight, my grandfather was there to lovingly guide this fiercely independent woman when necessary. One of her great loves, shopping, became markedly more difficult; I remember my grandfather reading tags for her when she thought she might have found something in her size. In restaurants, he would read her favorites to her off the menu, or go to the salad bar to make a little plate with exactly the toppings she liked. Every day at about 3 p.m. was "drinky-poo time," when they relaxed and shared a scotch and soda together. When out and about they held hands, drawing more than a few comments from strangers about how they were just so damn cute.

That was how the last few years of visits with them in Southern California would go: an early, early lunch, a bit of shopping at the premium outlets, relaxing and talking, drinky-poo time, and then "Jeopardy" followed by "The Wheel" -- and one wouldn't dare shout out an answer before Grandma had her crack at the question!

Another great love of hers was reading, and hence the blindness took quite a toll. Enter the Braille Institute, which provided immeasurable support to my grandmother, as well as the books-on-tape loaners that she devoured. Here's where you can send a dollar or two to the Braille Institute, so they can keep extending that help to others.

Another way to honor my grandmother will be a trip to her favorite store, Nordstrom, followed by a drinky-poo and toast to the heavens. And, of course, sending her off with her favorite song:

There are two things that really struck me upon moving to Colorado: 1) The yellow lights are REALLY short, and 2) I have to do a double take every time I fill up my car (which in L.A. was every four days; here, it's every few weeks, it seems) because they sell really low octane gas here, so to get the 87, which is the lowest grade in Cali, I have to pick the middle one at the pumps.

Now on to those recent Californian moments:

• At the Eddie Bauer outlet, aka my new second home, I was studying a pair of black silk long underwear on a clearance rack. A saleswoman asked if I needed any help -- which, on my trips there, has basically included taking my most recent armful of sweaters and mittens up to the cash registers. I help up the long johns and asked the saleswoman, "Are these supposed to, like, keep you warm?"
• At the Firestone on Colorado Blvd., getting my Bridgestone Blizzak LM-25 high-performance winter tires on Saturday. The guy is ringing up the work order, and mutters, "OK, we waive the tire disposal fee because you're taking the summer ones..." Me: "What? I have to take my other tires? What am I supposed to do with them?" After it was made clear to me that you don't throw away $800 tires, and you can't wear out your Blizzak tread in the summer, I relented and will be dragging my Michelins up the stairs one at a time in Hefty bags to store in the study closet.

Can I suggest that someone start a tire valet business? You could check your off-season tires like a coat check, then show your tag at the end of the season to have them back!