Hi, Sweetie!

My grandmother is turning 90 in September. We visited her yesterday and today on this trip; an early birthday celebration, given the fact that I was coming down here for a conference. We built a vacation around the visit, figuring that it made sense not to have to fly the family out to Arizona twice. My grandmother has outlived two of her children, the most recent being my father.

My grandmother is a character. She hasn't really changed much all of my life (and I suppose all of hers too). She admits that she is vain, saying that she'd rather have someone look at her rather than past her. She goes to the beauty shop every week, wears long colorful clothes with matching sunglasses, refuses to leave her apartment without lipstick, applies a fresh coat after meals, and talks with a loud, boisterous voice.

My grandmother reminds me--and most everyone that meets her--of the actress Estelle Harris, AKA (or Better Known As) Estelle Costanza. Seriously. She talks like her, she looks like her, and once, she admitted to us that her attorney told her she reminded him of the "mom from Seinfeld." I've always thought this, but I have never said anything. She just about flipped when he said this to her and asked us, "Do you see it?" Cyndi and I were crying we were laughing so hard. It was difficult to take short breaths and answer her.

My grandmother spoke with my father every Sunday at 7pm. She looked forward to those calls, and I assume he did too. When he told me this, it reminded me of the Seinfeld episode where George had to come up with a list of things to talk about with his parents. He dreaded the conversation, and was offended when his parents tried to avoid him. I don't think either of them dreaded their calls.

My grandmother talks with me every Sunday at 7pm. I took this task over for my father when he died. Every Sunday at 6:45pm, my phone reminds me to call my grandmother in 15 minutes. With the exception of our trip to Europe last year, we have spoken every week for 2 1/2 years. We have not seen each other, however, since this tradition began. This trip was the first time.

My grandmother is very appreciative of the phone calls. She tells me this every week, and has said it several times on the trip. We've had a strange relationship. She once told me that she never really liked me most of my life, but as an adult, she now loves me. I guess I could be offended by this, but I'm not. I understand what she means. I'm the grandson who rejected her heritage when I converted from Judaism to Catholicism, and I think that really bothered her. She's come to terms with it after 20 years, but it was a wall between us for a long time.

My grandmother may never see me again. This fact occurred to me tonight, when I said goodbye to her; this may be the last time I physically see her. Cyndi doesn't think so. She's a strong nearly 90 year old, full of piss and vinegar, she likes to say. Maybe we'll be here again in another 10 years, when she's turning 100 and I've teetering on the edge of 50.