Grandma Millie

Reading what other diarists have written is a great source of inspiration. While reading other diaries’ entries about grandparents I began to think about my ‘other’ grandmother. She was the one I had little contact with, yet she most certainly did have an impact on my life.

By way of introduction – a bit of history of my family tree. My father’s side of the family is Jewish. My mother’s side is Christian in general – Protestant more specifically. My sister skews that a bit – she married a Catholic and converted. She has since sort of un-converted. What’s the proper word for that? Perverted is what comes to mind…….somehow I think that my not be quite the exact word I’m fishing for.

Grandma Millie was from my dad’s side of the family. She was actually his step-mom but, since his biological mother died long before I was born, she was the only grandma I knew on my Dad’s side. She was a character. To explain her in general terms….take every stereotyped tale you’ve ever heard about a Jewish grandmother and roll them all together. That would be Grandma Millie.

Grandma Millie and Grandpa Izzie lived in California – Seal Beach. We lived in Florida. Now what’s the one thing that comes in abundance from both Florida and California? ORANGES. So, every visit Millie would see the orange groves on the side of the road and insist that my dad stop. Then Millie would climb the fence and commence stealing oranges off the trees. My father sat and fumed while my mother chatted. I was sure we were all going to jail. It seems though that THOSE oranges were so much better than the ones in California! Understand that buying Florida oranges in the store would not satisfy Millie. We had to stop by the roadside and steal oranges. At some point, Daddy quit stopping and then the real fun began.

Nearly every yard in my neighborhood in Tampa had at least one fruit tree in it – mostly oranges or grapefruit. Once Daddy refused to cruise the groves for forbidden fruit Millie needed a new amusement. Come on Sunshine Wolf, she’d say. Let’s walk. So I’d go off for a walk with my grandma – what fun! She’d spot a likely fruit laden tree in someone’s back yard, position herself (on the sidewalk of course) squarely in front of the screen door and begin to talk to me at a volume level which even Moses could have heard. :MY, SW! WHAT BEAUTIFUL ORANGES THOSE PEOPLE HAVE! AREN’T THEY LOVELY ORANGES? ITS SUCH A SHAME TO SEE SUCH LOVELY ORANGES WASTING AWAY ON THE TREE! More times than not, the owner of the lovely oranges would come to the door and ask us if we’d like to pick some. I’d come home with my hands and pockets full of fruit. This time my mother fumed and my father simply puffed on his cigar. Pretty soon I was forbidden to take walks with Grandma Millie. And you know what? I never saw her eat even one orange.

My other grandmother lived with us. She was a wonderful baker. She would make apple pie for dinner. Millie would gobble up two pieces, look at my other grandma and say with a satisfied smirk…”That was such a lovely pie, Ada. It was so good. I don’t know when I’ve had such pie….but I’ll tell you how to make it better. Whew!

Millie was terrified of the cat. The cat knew it. Cats are amazing creatures. Mine was also more than a bit of a devil. Millie would make her announcement – I’m going to the bathroom now. Whoosh! A gray streak would go flying by. By the time Millie had take the 20 or so steps necessary to arrive at the bathroom, the cat was already there, sitting on the toilet and looking up at Millie with malice and an “I dare you” smirk. The cat always won. Millie was not going to expose her tooshie to the kitty.

Millie was a fine cook in her own right and very generous with her recipes. If you admired one of her concoctions she would immediately give you the recipe. Then all you had to do was figure out just exactly which ingredient she had left out. After all, it wouldn’t do for anyone to be able to cook as good as momma!

And, of course, she was queen of guilt. She laid it on thicker than the quarter inch of pancake makeup she wore. She deserves full credit. To this day I am fairly immune to guilt trips. Not that I don’t have my moments of agony….but if you have survived the war, battles mean nothing. “Such a lovely girl…if only…….” “Of course you can eat that …what’s a little more weight?”

But, to be fair, I was the princess. I was pampered and loved (albeit in a rather abstract sort of manner). I got to know where each and every fruit tree in the neighborhood was. I had 72 ‘matches’ made for me by the time I was 12. Life was good……and Millie was great fun. I learned to play gin with deadly style. And, I am who I am, in part, thanks to Grandma Millie. However, I have not ever – nor will I ever – worn the mink stole that she left to me in her will. But it keeps a space in my closet full, just as Millie keeps a place in my heart full.