Nana was my dad’s mother. Nana was the “spoiler” of the bunch. By which I mean she loved to spoil us by indulging us in such things as taking us out to eat and to places such as Knott’s Berry Farm. Her main difficulty in her ability to “spoil us rotten” was that she didn’t have much money. She was constantly offering us sweets and the like: Nana was, of course, the one who introduced us to Pop-Tarts, with butter, naturally (see my earlier post on Pop-Tarts).

Nana worked as a nurse’s aide, so we often saw her in a crisp, white uniform. I know she worked at one of the local hospitals as well as working privately for individuals. Additionally, she and Daisy were often caring for one relative or another: first Nana’s mother, Lulu, and later Daisy’s sister, Myrna.

Nana just back from work, at our house in 1959:

Nana had a toy poodle named Nicki that she just adored; here they are in 1960:

Nana’s mother, the only great grandparent I ever met:

Nana in 1966; she would have been 75:

A few pictures from earlier times:

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Nana lived to be 79, she died in 1970, the same year I graduated from high school. All my memories of her are only ones of my interactions with her; I know nothing of the woman she was when she wasn’t being my “Nana”. I’d give a lot to be able to go back and talk with her!

My parents actually got the dog first, then had kids. Here she is as a pup:

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My Grandma was my best friend when I was young. I remember more times with her than anyone else. During the summers, up until when we all moved when I was 11, it seems like I must have spent half my time at her house. Even after we all moved away from each other, I spent some vacations at my grandparents house in Loma Linda.

We played “Hide the Thimble”, Parcheesi, and Chinese Checkers.

She taught me to do a bit of crocheting and to make rag rugs.

We did embroidery and liquid embroidery on pillowcases, tablecloths, and napkins.

With her help, I did many paint-by-number kits and mosaic kits. In fact, it’s one of my projects in the background of this picture of her taken in 1964 for their golden wedding anniversary (she made her dress, of course):

And most fun of all, she and I picked the boysenberries she grew in the garden and made boysenberry jelly. Every summer we would slather it on saltines; it was wonderful!

Strangely enough, the one thing I did not learn was sewing. I was warned early on about not letting the needle go through my thumb and was scared of the sewing machine from then on.

Here we are together when I’m 1 and 2:

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Here she is at about 80 years old:

She lived to be 87; she died the year after I finished college. I wish I had had a lot more moments with her, but I love reflecting on the times we did have.

I spent less time with my Grandpa than with my other grandparents because he was always out doing stuff. When my grandparents moved to California they bought some land and built nine houses on it. One they took for themselves, one they sold to my parents, and the rest they rented out. Grandpa was kept busy doing the upkeep and repairs on the rental units.

Here’s an plot of the street I grew up on:

When Grandpa wasn’t fixing things, he was growing things. On his little plot he grew corn, squashes, cucumbers, various fruit trees, and boysenberries. At first, he also raised chickens, but they were gone by the time I was born.

I’ve been back to my old street and his houses have stood up remarkably well. He obviously knew what he was doing as both a farmer and a contractor.

Before moving out to California and becoming a “gentleman farmer”, Grandpa was a chemistry professor at a college in the Washington, DC area. I always had a hard time picturing my overall-clad grandfather in a suit teaching a bunch of premed students, but that is how he supported his family.

During the time I knew him, my Grandpa seemed nearly ageless.

If you want to know more about my Grandpa’s early life and haven’t seen his stories in my previous posts, his adventures are detailed under “Grandpa’s Memoirs” in the menu at the top of the page.

When I took the dog out for her walk the other day, the quail were just exploding out of the underbrush. I found this odd, as they usually don’t pay that much attention to us. A moment later there was a thump as though someone had moved something in a nearby garage. Brindy and I continued our walk and on the way back I noticed something in front of the lobby door of one of our buildings. “How odd”, I thought, “that package is shaped like a hawk”. Of course, as I got closer I found that it really was a hawk that had stunned itself by flying into the window, hence the loud thump.

The hawk was obviously disoriented, but otherwise appeared unharmed. I texted my neighbors to warn them to be careful opening the lobby door. They went out about 20 minutes later and did not see any bird, so it seems to have recovered.

Nice to see one up close, but I didn’t want to upset it too much, so just snapped two pictures:

Here’s a closer look at the mark it left on the window; you can see the bird hit the window with wings spread:

On my dad’s side of the family I had three “grandparents”; two official ones and one unofficial. My dad’s mother was my “Nana”, while his father was “Grandfather”. I’ll get to the third grandparent in a minute.

Like my mom, my dad was also the youngest child in his family; his mother was 33 or so when he was born. He had two older sisters. His father was the Chancellor at the Greek embassy in Washington, DC. I believe Nana worked at the embassy and that’s how his parents met. They divorced when he was 8; apparently Nana couldn’t bring herself to accept the European “custom” that her husband having a mistress on the side was no big deal as long as he was discreet about it.

Nana met Daisy Roth when Nana was in the hospital giving birth to my dad and Daisy was her nurse. Daisy was hired to move in to help Nana take care of the kids; and after Nana’s divorce, they continued living together. As far as I was concerned, then, Daisy was another grandparent. She came to family dinners, went everywhere that Nana did, and often took care of my brother and I when my folks were away.

So for me, my grandparents were “Grandma and Grandpa”, “Nana and Daisy”, and as a distant third, “Grandfather”.

One thing I very much regret is that I never got to relate to any of my grandparents as an adult. They had all died before I was 25 and out of college. When I was five years old, my mom’s parents were already 68 and 70; my dad’s were 65 and 69. This means that almost all my memories of them are from when I was a child and to a child, of course, even 65 seems ancient.

My mom’s mother, henceforth referred to as “Grandma” had five children. She did not have her first child until she was 28 or so in 1916. My mom was born in 1924. My mom waited until she was 27 to have her first child, me, so my Grandma was already 63 or so when I was born.

Here they are when I was probably about a year old:

Here they are when I was about three:

They had just come back from a vacation to Hawaii, the only vacation I ever remember them taking on their own.

And this next picture is around the time of my sixth birthday (my mom is on the right):

My Grandma made almost all here own clothes; she was a terrific seamstress. Here’s a typical outfit:

And here’s a shot of the outfit my Grandpa was most often found in:

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