iving this close to the edge certainly has its cliffhangers. In lean times, I pray to my grandfather to help me out of the jam. And he always comes through.

When I was growing up, we had a special relationship. He was patient and gentle with a Fred Astaire-ness about him, and he always had a kind word and warm hug for me. He would hand me a couple of dollars and say with a wink, "Here's a little something to help the cause along." He always made sure there was enough money for me to go to summer camp in New Hampshire and when I was 10, he promised me the car of my choice for my 18^th birthday. (I envisioned a turquoise Jaguar XKE for years.) Birthday gifts always included shares of AT&T, which of course multiplied like crazy when Ma Bell split up. Then there was the quietly generous way he sent me off to Europe when I was a senior in high school, the perfect prescription for coping with adolescence, my parents' divorce, my grandmother's illness and my dog running away.

Grandpa died in 1973, but has managed to continue to "help the cause along" in miraculous and mysterious ways. Those AT&T shares turned into stock in all of the Baby Bell holding companies. When I needed money after college, I sold all but NYNEX for a good amount of cash. Thank you, Grandpa.

A few years passed. I decided to cash in the NYNEX stock to buy furniture for my new apartment. Thank you, Grandpa.

More years passed. I kept receiving statements from NYNEX but I never paid any attention to them. In another one of my tight financial squeezes, I prayed to my grandfather to help me through. The next day, I received one of the quarterly statements from NYNEX. This time, I took a closer look at it. It said, "SHARES HELD BY YOU – 0 / SHARES HELD BY NYNEX – 60." I sold the shares held by NYNEX and rejoiced at my good fortune. And I thanked my grandfather.

In preparing for a move to San Diego, my mother set aside a few boxes of my childhood memorabilia. Anything I wanted had to travel home with me. The rest, garbage.

Among the scrapbooks, photos and trinkets rescued from the dumpster, I decided to keep the oversized yearbook from my fateful, miserable year at Skidmore College. After I got it home, though, I discovered it was too big for my bookcase and left it out until I could think of a better storage place.

Some days later, my brother and his bride-to-be asked me to witness their marriage at City Hall. After the ceremony, we went across the street to Horace Greeley Park to share a champagne toast. I heard someone call my name. It was Janet, a friend from Skidmore, whom I hadn't seen in more than 20 years.

It was great to catch up with her in those few minutes and when I returned home, I decided to sit down and look through the yearbook to see what memories I could stir up.

I opened the front cover and two large menus slid out. I vaguely recognized them – they were from the luxury cruise liner, the Isle de France. My grandparents were on board in 1957, taking the Caribbean cruise for Lincoln's Birthday weekend. The menus had beautiful illustrations and fables in French, and I smiled remembering my grandfather giving me the menus when I came back from France.

Inside the menu with Le Coche et la Mouche, in neat, legible handwriting were the words:

Very best wishes, Ernest Hemingway

Isle de France, Lincoln's Birthday

Thank you, Grandpa. Thank you, Papa Hemingway.

©1998 Sandi Kimmel

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