Grandma

I have decided to do something called picture of the week. The first picture is to your left. Each week, I'll find an interesting picture either among my archives or on the internet and use it as a jumping off point for a post. We'll see how it goes...

The picture you see to your left is my grandmother. She was born in 1909. She grew up in the Chicago area and raised a family of five there. Back then, what we now call suburbs was the country. When I was a kid, my grandma scared me. She was never that affectionate to me. Not like my other grandma, who did everything grandmas are supposed to do, like hide candy where you can find it, tell you stories about your dad, and teach you to play poker. What? Your grandma didn't teach you to bluff? Well, mine did. But my other grandma was very different. She lived alone in a high rise apartment as my grandpa had died when I was very little. There weren't many games in the apartment and there was nowhere to really go and get away from the grownups. The one special food my grandma made was nutbread, which I refused to try. (My other grandma, in contrast, made every wonderful Italian dish you could possibly imagine.) So I never really wanted to go to grandma's apartment. After all, looking out the 19th story windows with binoculars got old pretty quickly.

As I got older, however, my opinion changed. One time, I asked my grandma about her life when she was a kid. The floodgates opened. She told me story after story about her brother Harvey and herself. Motorcyles, fast cars, and swimming competitions... She really enjoyed telling the stories and I enjoyed listening to them. I had never realized how interesting my grandma could be. What's surprising to me is that I had to ask the hear the stories. I was just trying to cover an awkward moment in the conversation. I guess it just goes to show, anyone can be shy, even your grandma.

Grandma is still a pretty amazing woman. Her body is beginning to give out on her, but her mind is as sharp as it ever was. My mother and her siblings are taking care of her and, while I hope she lives many more years, I think the end may be approaching. I know my grandma is surprised she's still around. Ninety-five years is a long time.

I love my grandma. I wish I lived closer so I could see her more often. I'd like to hear more stories. Oh, and you know what? At 33 years old, I finally tried Grandma's nut bread. It was pretty good.