Bubbie and GM

I have great memories of my grandmothers.

Bubbie was my dad's mother. She was built like a bowling ball ... a real soft one. Never bothered to learn English but we always seemed to understand each other. Maybe I just thought we understood each other because she was always kissing my head and feeding me latkes. And smiling ... always smiling. Her early years in Poland and fleeing Nazi oppression showed on her face .... so beautiful but deeply lined ... and her gait. She walked like a duck, on stumpy legs wrapped in thick support hose. Limping and waddling through her kitchen, Bubbie always smiled, never complained (if she did, it was in yiddush and I never knew it). What a sweetheart.

My mom's mother was French Catholic. I called her GM (grandmother). What a character. She had a heavy New Orleans accent. On hot days she'd dress to the nines but would complain that the weather was "fee-yus" (fierce) and she would ask me (when I was all of 12) if I would grab her a "Bee-ya" (beer) from "da icebox" and to grab one for myself as well. She had an awful wig that would never sit straight on her head ... always cocked a little to the side.

Bubbie and Ruth are both long gone.

I miss them dearly.