It happened one day when Jamie and I were visiting his grandmother who lived in Palo Alto, California with her daughter, Jamie’s mom. We were living in San Francisco at the time, about an hour north, and frequently drove down the Peninsula to visit Jamie’s parents and grandmother. This day was a little different because Jamie’s folks were away so that made us Grandma’s chief entertainers/care givers for the day.
Grandma G was in her mid-80s and totally together mentally. Because she was getting up in years and finding it difficult getting around, Jamie’s parents moved her from her home in Chicago to their rambling ranch-style house in sunny, mild California. It wasn’t a move that she was totally happy with but she seemed to get along well enough and didn’t complain. At least not to me and Jamie.
She was always happy to see us. One day we brought her a piece of this fabulously delicious peanut butter cake with peanut butter and cream cheese frosting from one of the exquisite bakeries in our neighborhood of San Francisco. She loved it and told us that this was her day to sin. What day was that, we asked. Any day I want, she said. We always brought some cake down with us after that.
I don’t know that I would label Grandma G a “character,” though she certainly had plenty of character. She once told us that sometimes she stayed up all night reading a book she just could not put down. She was sharing a secret like a kid who deliberately went against curfew to do what she wanted.
She’d had an interesting career and for a time had had her own radio show on homemaking, complete with her own show business radio name, on a station in Chicago. She had also been very involved in liberal politics in Chicago—one of the first women to do so—and in the Presbyterian church. Grandma G is probably the reason Jamie’s family turned out so solidly liberal and progressive minded. Jamie likes to show a photograph of him and Grandma at a 1980 Chicago rally for the Equal Rights Amendment, the one that would have put gender equality into the U.S. Constitution.
I always enjoyed our visits to Palo Alto where it was usually sunny and warm unlike San Francisco with its chill and fog. I felt like I was actually in California there.
Jamie was busy doing something outside, cleaning the pool or something. Grandma and I were in the family room chatting about nothing in particular when the questions began.
She was curious, in an innocent grandmotherly way, about me and Jamie, her favorite grandson. How did we meet, she asked. I told her the story of friends inviting us both to dinner, meeting at their house and then going out. Jamie and I hit it off, he offered me a ride home and, after talking a while, we made plans to get together.
Did we love each other? Yes, I said, sort of gulping as I wondered just where this conversation was going and where was Jamie.
Did Jamie treat me well? Oh, yes, he does, I said. Very well.
Does he apologize when he hurts your feelings, asked Grandma. Well, yes, I guess, I said. He hadn’t really ever hurt my feelings in the short time we’d known each other but I imagined he would apologize if he ever did so.
I imagine there were more questions, but then Jamie returned to the room. I joked about being grilled by Grandma and the conversation shifted to another topic. I’ve always had a fond memory of that afternoon and my brief interview by the matriarch.
About the Author
No comments:
Post a Comment