She wore gold shoes, had red hair, and had more ‘He pulled me over, but this is how I got out of that one’ stories of anyone I had ever known. She had oodles of rings and bracelets that my fellow girl cousins and I would love to organize and rearrange in her dresser drawers. And, oh, the lipsticks! The make-up! I remember thinking she was the coolest, most peculiar nana ever.

Sometimes, on the weekends, she would come over carrying her box of mystical potions and good smelling what-have-yous and cut, file and whip my mother’s nails into perfection. The house would come alive with lady chit-chat and the scents of polish remover, oils and lotions, steaming hot coffee and fresh-baked blueberry muffins. She talked as she filed, flied as she talked; the Emory board making happy little sounds under her gentle knowing pressure. I’d sit nearby, listening to things I didn’t understand, taking in the smells of the slick polishes and removers, nibbling on my blueberry muffin, wondering why adults drank coffee. 😉 Sometimes Papa would come with; he would sit in the stuffed rocking chair in the corner, whistling, throwing in his two cents every now and then, winking at me if his comments riled them up, but mostly she came alone. This was lady-time. I would cherish these days, but not hold them dear enough, as what pre-adolescent girl would. After a few minutes, I would throw my muffin liner away, give her a kiss, and go about my day.

Now my grandmother is 75.

She still wears gold shoes and has red hair. I believe I may have more ‘pulled-over, no ticket’ stories than her now {sorry, Uncle Paul!}, but she still drives as fast as her angles can fly. The bracelets and the rings are ever present, though knitting needles and elaborate hats and scarfs take up the most space.
Papa may no longer be with us, but my Nana is still the coolest, most peculiar Nana ever.

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