Hats Off to Granny

My Irish grandmother, Alice, is no longer with us. She died more than 10 years ago, in her nineties, at a nursing home in Connecticut.

But she's with me every winter day, especially today when the snow is swirling wildly, the angels energetically shaking their down comforters. I still love the cozy white Aris hat with fluffy faux-fur trim that she bought me in my twenties.

We were at the Florence Shop, a small stand-alone department store in Bergenfield. I took her shopping a lot, as did my mother [her daughter]. Once my mother was gone, it was up to me, my sister or my dad to take Granny out for the things she needed, or to get them ourselves. Florence Shop was our stop for Playtex girdles in boxes and sensible shoes--two things she definitely had to weigh in on.

She was a tough customer, in more ways than one. She could be demanding, uppity, insensitive, inflexible. She could turn her cute, pert nose up at someone she didn't like, such as the woman who lived in the apartment beneath her. "She drinks," Alice sniffed. She knew all about that, from living with my grandfather for more than 50 years.

But she was also sweet. She splurged on Entenmann's Chocolate-Chip Loaf Cakes for us to have at home on Sundays, invited me over for hamburgers and potatoes with her and my Grandpa, occasionally made Sis's favorite meal of lamb and mint jelly.

Again and again, her pretty black eyes dancing, she loved to tell us that she had married Grandpa when he was 34 and she was 17. She also liked telling my sister and me [separately--we compared stories later] about some woman she knew years back in her apartment building, whose husband would come home at lunchtime for sex. I think Granny tried to shock us, or maybe to gauge our reactions.

She loved her afternoon shows--The Edge of Night, The Secret Storm. Her cabinet always held Nilla Wafers, Social Teas and Ovaltine. Her furniture was spare, and bare. Her Christmas tree was small, fake and trimmed with dime-store ornaments like elves, Santas and fat glittery birds. The main decorations in her apartment were the framed black-and-white wedding photos of each of her four children, and a statue of the Blessed Mother.

I'm not sure why she got me the hat. She was on a tight budget. But with her girlish mischief, she insisted I try it on and then get it. Did I really need a hat, or just a prettier one? I don't know.

I do know I was wearing it the snowy night that H. and I first said "I love you" to each other, and in our Christmas card photo when we were expecting Fig. I've thrown it in the washer, worn it on Girl Scout trips, taken it to Maine.

I haven't lost my magic hat, or my memories of Alice with the dancing black eyes.