My Nani
While my Eddie and I enjoyed taking adventures, exploring new things – with Nani it was the routine that stands out. When I was little I spent my Tuesdays at Nani School. We started off first thing in the morning, tidying the house. Following her from room to room as she emptied trash cans, containing at the most, a tissue that Eddie had discarded (after all, those of us in the know knew enough to not leave trash out in the open). Straightening furniture, fluffing pillows. She’d hand me a duster and as I’d run the feathers over the silver frames and small porcelin figurines that covered every flat surface, she’d tell me the stories behind the treasures – pine cones from Washington, the silver Bible from Uncle Meyer’s bar mitzvah when he turned 83, the cash register from Grandpa Sam’s grocery store in Tyler Texas. When the cleaning was through we’d play dress-up, her closet full of the clothes she wore when she and Eddie would attend black tie charity dinners, or if I was really lucky, she would break out the paints and together we would paint the refridgerator door, moments after my latest creation was finished we would then wash it down with lava soap and a sponge. We’d end our day in the front yard. Waiting for my mom to pick me up, picking flowers off the rose bushes, floating dead leaves down the water that runs along the curb and laying on our backs and talking about what we could see in the clouds in the sky.
Our time together wasn’t limited to Tuesdays. As a new mom myself, I now realize that I spent an obscene amount of time with my Nani and Eddie. Fridays were spent at Martin – I was the only 2nd grader with a perfect blowout. Nani clasping my hand as she used all her weight to lean into the heavy, glass door, the noisey beautyshop coming to a quiet hum as Nani entered – everyone stopping to acknowledge that she had arrived. I loved that she was so important, her scarf perfectly tied and secured with a pin, her purse and her small Neiman’s bag, containing important lists and newspaper clippings, swinging from the crook of her arm. She’d be whisked to the back to have hair washed and motion for me to come with her. As she sat with her head back and her hair under the water, she would somehow llift her neck just enough keep an eye on me – making sure I wasn’t kidnapped…from the beautyshop. Off to bullocks wilshire for tea sandwiches and a fashion show, and then a sleep over at Nani and Eddie’s – we’d light Shabbat candles in the kitchen before all climbing into their big bed, with our silky pillows, for chopped salad, followed by raspberries and ice cream.
My Nani was prepared for any situation. When we added a second story to our house on Bannockburn, the day the addition was completed she showed up with a rope ladder to hang from the second floor so that we could escape in case of fire. She carried with her, at all times, a rubberband with a piece of cardboard attached that read, broken meter, just in case she found herself parked at one. After getting engaged I received an envelope in the mail, with a note written the week I was born. It said, just in case I’m not here in person – for your wedding dress…with a check enclosed. And just yesterday, as I was looking for a pair of socks in one of Nani’s drawers I found a thin box. Inside a note, Fanny, I though you might like these one day, love Nani, December 1990, and a slip and a nightgown. It was as if she knew, in that moment, i would be there. And I was.
My Nani always smelled of baby powder.
She wore huge sunglasses and always thought it was better to look at the person she was taking the picture with, rather than the camera.
The last thing she did before she left the house was put on her wedding ring and wind her watch, and the first thing she did when she came home was take both off and run to pee – even before turning off the house alarm.
My Nani always slept on a blue satin pillow case.
She did back exercises every morning and walked 20 laps around the house.
Instead of traditional lullabyes, my Nani sang Christmas carols and Yiddish folk songs with words she made up.
The one time Eddie and I brought her to a UCLA basket ball game she insisted on rooting for the other team because she felt bad they were losing.
My Nani had soft, floppy arms that I liked to hold onto while I fell asleep.
Because my Nani had repeatedly defied all the odds, and after so many challenging health situations continued to come back and fight through it, I sometimes called her the bionic woman. And because she was always so immaculately put together, even as she walked her beloved Chester up and down the street with my Eddie by her side, I sometimes called her the First Lady. But mostly, and most importantly, she was just my Nani. With her silky pillow and her pink bathrobe, and her no-slip socks.
Thank you 
