H'r j;-1:q . r1H[e] ,y;:)1: 40 'd1V11-K 1AEL )R r F.-+T Friday, December 20, 1985 THE DETROIT JEWISH NEWS Fond Memories A visit to Grandma's has its own tradition of favorite family stories and nostalgia. h ey formed a reception line of sorts, those early residents of the Ten Mile Jewish Federation Apartments. Sitting com- fortably in cloth-covered chairs that flanked each side of the original building's main entrance, wearing cardigan sweaters to protect from drafts, they would momentarily stop their gossip to mark my arrival. They watched me balancing groceries and a diaper bag, manuev- ering three small children and fight- ing to open the door with my un- cooperative key. With an understanding smile, one of the women usually came to the rescue and held open the heavy inner door. This signaled the reception's start. Talking among themselves, in half English, half Yiddish, they would appraise my situation. "That's Hilda's granddaughter." "Shayna maydle." She looks like the Momma." "Does she come every week?" As I waited for the elevator, I unzipped my children's snowsuits and took off their hats. Someone would make a further observation. "Look, twins." She would aks for confirmation. "Honey, are those babies twins?" "Zie gezunt. You should go in health." "Three boys?" May God give you strength." "So zis." "So shane." Then the clucking of approval and admiration began in earnest. Glenn Tries t, Benyas-Kaufman BY ELLYCE FIELD Special to The Jewish News I pushed the children inside the elevator and turned to acknowledge my audience. I shared a deep bond with these old women. My mother- hood was beginning; theirs was on the wane. We smiled the smile of co- conspirators. The elevator left us on the ninth floor. We walked over to my grandmother's apartment and rang the bell. She padded to answer in her broken backed, brown leather slip- pers, her cotton housecoat unbut- toned at the neck. Her sparse grey hair was bobby pinned into a tight knot at the back of her head. She greeted us joyously with her fingers, pinching and caressing. We stepped into her tiny apart- ment. Household goods tumbled out of every corner. Chipped white enamel pots were stacked on the range. Glass jars, glasses and every- day dishes dried on the counter. Smoothed out, once crumpled, brown grocery bags lay patiently stacked on the kitchen floor. A miniature kitchen table, covered with a plastic cloth, was full of piles: grease-stained Ford Motor Co. newsletters, old greeting cards, puzzling medical bills, bits and pieces of paper with shopping lists penciled in spidery hand, rubber- bands resting in a washed jelly jar, half empty plastic pill bottles. Her efficiency apartment was cluttered with a lifetime of saving. The oversized couch held worn tapestry fragments, lovingly woven, and needlepointed pillows hand sewn by Hungarian relatives now lost to the darkness of the Holocaust. Family pictures stood proudly on her doily-covered dresser — children, grandchildren, nephews and nieces. Smiling young couples dressed in formal wedding clothes, serious young men in army uniforms, babies in black and white, babies in color, graduates with earnest expression. Our short visit had the pattern of a ritual. "Undress the kinder, they shouldn't catch cold." I took off their leggings, jackets and sweaters. The twins went straight to the plants, exploring the vines winding around the coffee table legs onto the floor. She would try to divert them. "Come sit on Bubble's lap, honey." I held each squirming child next to her body and she spoke to him for a few moments. "which one is this?" she would whisper. Then she would pat him--and smell him and always say, "Be a good boy. Listen to your mummy. Is she feeding you enough?" For the next hour, we visited. I acted as interpreter for my oldest son, asking him Bubbie's questions, rewording his answers for her. We talked about my parents, my hus- band, and what was happening in my life. She would tell me, "Relax. Take care of yourself. Just enjoy the kinder. Then we were warmed up, ready for our favorite part. Bubbie sat un- Pat Cisar visits Eva Davidson at the Prentis Federation Apartments