Born in 1902, my granny was a force to be reckoned with. She had outlived many of her friends, my grandfather, and even (sadly) a daughter (my aunt.) She would listen to the radio and clap at the end of the program. She never owned a television: “Nonsense” she called it, but did have the radio or a record playing all day. She had a library. That’s right, a library, in a room of her home. The wall of her stairwell was tightly tiled with black and white family photographs, all stately and elegant, in gorgeous hand cared frames and all reminiscent of eremarks and palpable happiness.
Her new york wedding photo album is something she often takes out and shows us, never when food is on the table, or any coffee that can spill on it, but when we are together and in need of quietude and appreciation.
