I always knew my grandmother loved me. We called her Buddie, because I wouldn’t or couldn’t say “Bubbie” and it just stuck. But there was never a question that she was on my side and would have thrown herself in front of an oncoming train if it meant saving my life.
Turns out she was also my memory-keeper and president of my fan club. I don’t even know when I got my braces, my driver’s license or (gasp) my period, but she was taking notes. Literally.
My mom (her daughter) was moving house recently and had to discard a lot of old boxes of things, but saved a few choice photos to send me, plus a small handful of notes. Apparently, when I did something noteworthy … it went on a note. So, I’ll share these with you. Because we never know who’s keeping track in our lives.
I’m so glad she did.
I remember this clearly; I’d feared chicken pox since I was in kindergarten and they read us a book about a kid who got them. I stayed at home and watched a lot of TV while missing extensive classes on the endocrine system at school.
You want love? How about your grandma letting you, a newly-licensed driver, take her to the mall just one month after you were street legal? Also, these gems: London, a new kitchen set (for some reason she fell in love this dinky table and chairs while visiting my New York apartment) and then to Italy. Oh, and I love that the commemoration of the Susan Lucci doll is on Soap Opera Digest letterhead — when I worked at the magazine.