Californians, at least in my experience, do not spend a lot of time talking about people who have died, especially if they died quite some time ago. I had to overcome that hesitancy last night, since the main topic of conversation was a woman named Margrét who died in the 50s. She also happens to be my great grandmother. My mom is named after her, and I'm named after her sister, who died just before I was born. Her daughter, my grandmother, was named Maria, and my sister is named after her. So this morning I am thinking about four generations of women who carry the names of devoutly religious women, and whose lives, each in their own way, have a touch of the divine. Not a bad payoff for going a bit out of my comfort zone.