Somersaults and Silly Stuff

I have a clear memory of my grandmother pulling weeds in her backyard. It was late summer because the branches of the plum tree behind her hung rich with purple-black fruit. Pink and white and bright orange oriental poppies fluttered in a border and the grass sparkled the emerald green of a rainy Pacific Northwest summer. The day shimmered with the silvery afternoon light seen after a hard rain.

I’m feeling silly today, Grandma said. And then she pressed the top of her gray head onto the soft...