Nonnie

It's been nearly a year since Nonnie, my maternal grandmother and one of the coolest ladies ever, passed away.  It's typical to feel the void of missed loved ones most acutely at holidays and special dates.  But sometimes it happens at quiet and unexpected moments.

As a child, I watched Nonnie halve grapefruits and remove the segments (with precision, as she did everything) with a jagged-edged spoon.  I had only ever seen those fancy spoons at her house; I found it fascinating that she managed to avoid cutting her mouth with each bite.  She'd offer the juicy segments to me, but even my best grown-up efforts couldn't get me past the sourness.  I was quite satisfied observing, however, since I adored drinking in this and so many other proper Nonnieisms: her painting her long fingernails a loud and sweet bubble gum pink,  passionately watching and commenting on the news, thoroughly washing the dishes - always with the same brand of soap, and answering the phone with an oddly but beautifully deep "hellooooo".

Last week at work, I opened my own foil-wrapped, halved grapefruit (it turns out my adult palate happens to adore sourness), pulled out my very own jagged-edged grapefruit spoon, and daydreamed about emulating Nonnie's graceful movements.   



I miss her voice and how she cleared her throat, how she opened envelopes, her ceremonious approach to setting the table for even the most casual lunch, her slender hands, and perhaps most, her unintentionally hilariously enthusiastic expressions for the littlest of things (on her anticipating snail mail: "Darling, of COOOURSE I identify your handwriting on every envelope; it is DELIIICIOUSLY definitive.").

Till we meet again, Nonnie. XO