I Used to be a Little Girl

 Monday, September 28, 2009

This is my grandfather, my Baba. And me as he patiently allowed me to help him shave. He used to live in old brownstone in downtown Salt Lake City. I have memories of my Nana drinking her one martini on New Years Eve; The smell of Thanksgiving smacking you in the face when you opened the massive front door to the apartment building.

The dusty smell of the carpet. The rows and rows of mailboxes just inside the door. I remember laying and listening, entranced by the sound of the traffic going by at night before my parents finally were ready to go home.

I remember my Baba telling me that the hole in the floor in the hall with open pipe sticking out was where I could yell down at the devil. And I did tentatively hoping he wouldn't answer back. I remember delicious smells of T-bone steaks being cooked in my Nana's kitchen, to which she would yell at us all "get out of my kitchen!" while she finished making food for the Gods. I remember one time her deviation and she cooked fish. I hated fish, (read little kid who never tried it before) and being sent to their bedroom without dinner.

I remember their bedroom. Separate beds. It was the proper thing to do then. I was allowed to sit on my Baba's bed which was perfect because it was closest to the window where I could watch the traffic drive by. I didn't even mind skipping dinner that night. I loved watching the cars.

Nana had an old gas oven which she had to light with a long match and her head half way inside... (holy crap).

I remember watching my Baba as he had his lunchtime snack of cheese and crackers and a shot of whiskey and 7up. I watched him and watched him. I knew it must be good, it had to be. So one day, I watched him prepare his cheese and crackers and pour his bourbon in his Dixie cup. When he turned around to grab the 7up I walked up and slammed back that Bourbon like it was lemonade. I remember my Nana gasping, my mother hysterical thinking I was going die. I also remember my Baba trying really hard not laugh at me. Covering his mouth with his hands. I too, remember very much how wonderful straight bourbon was. I guess the rest is history for me... heh.

My Nana would decorate Christmas in the small little apartment and it was suddenly turned into this wonderful fairy land. I still have all of her old decorations and little village houses. The ones that were make of cardboard and could explode into flames at any moment from the hot light bulb that went into the back of them. To our luck, not one ever did.

I remember Lawernce Welk. Nuff said.

I was a little girl once. I didn't have time to really appreciate my Baba or my Nana. We never do until we are older and they unfortunately have passed. I wished I could tell him that I loved his little bobble head dog that he had sitting in the back of his car. Or my Nana's frickadelas. I think they are of German descent, we also had Pasties... long "A" people. And if I am not mistaken it was brought to Michigan from a Cornishman. I am Danish. I wonder why I dont remember any Danish food ever being cooked. I do remember my Baba and my mother eating sardines on saltine crackers. I would run in horror. If that is Danish, It was icky Danish.

I can't tell them now, but I thought I would share with anyone else who would listen. I loved my Nana and my Baba. I miss them.