My Grandma Namian. Let’s just say she had a lot on her plate. With Grandpa being an old school Armenian, he viewed Ethel as more of a servant than a wife. He called her DAT DAMN ETTLE. Never deviated. Probably tortured her in the delivery room for taking so long.
As a cook, she was absolutely horrendous. We’d eat at their house every Sunday and then dash off to my mother’s family who had it swinging and swigging. We’d eat anything in sight as ETTLE’S boiled chicken dinner didn’t go down smoothly whatsoever. She had alarming patches of eczema all over herself, so she was usually dressed in a nightgown (of course with tissues tucked into her sleeve). High socks and white cotton gloves. Never without the gloves. She’d get in that stove and grab just about anything without oven mitts. She was hard core, that one.
After dinner she’d polish off a whole tray of Whitman’s chocolate samplers. When she got to the cherry filled ones, I had to look away, look away, look away Dixie Land. They’d squirt and her hands looked bloodier than Lady Macbeth’s. Oh and she left her apron on at all times and I’m thinking (you know what I mean) ALL TIMES. The eczema was completely justifiable as it would take a bottle of Valium to survive one day with Grandpa Namian.
But Grandpa loved my brother and me. His Christmas present was a large glass jar full of coins he’d accumulated all year. We had to count them in front of him as he was beaming with pride. For him, this was the great American dream. He didn’t buy frivolous things. He bought real estate, like an entire block in Bridgeport, Connecticut.
His favorite line: Man’s best friend … dollar bill.
So one Christmas, my mother bought my grandmother a poinsettia.
Grandpa: Oh she’ll kill dat ting in ten minutes, dat damn Ettle.
Grandma: How often do I need to water it?
This became a daily question. Exactly at 9:00 AM she’d call my mother to ask if she should water it. The plant was plastic. Poinsettias have a short shelf life, yet Ettle considered herself to be a precursor to Martha Stewart as hers stayed exactly the same all year long. She bragged to her neighbors that she had a green thumb, when in fact she had a filthy chocolate stained one.
One day during a summer heatwave, Ettle thought she’d bring the plant outside to take advantage of the sunshine. Well the poor thing started dripping and then finally melted altogether. A pile of sticky red plastic stuck to the driveway.
The next day the 9:00 morning call jingled in.
Grandma: I should have watered it more. It collapsed. If I get the hose out, do you think I can bring it back to life?
My mother didn’t have the heart to tell her it was plastic and crush the only inkling of pride she had left in her life. So late that night my mother and father drove to the scene of the crime, cleaned up the evidence and left a brand new one in its place.
Gosh, as much as family can run you ragged sometimes, there’s other times when they know exactly how to lift our spirits.