Grandma and have a picnic breakfast a couple times a week. This week we went to a lakeside park…

We walked up to the lake but they wouldn’t let us in.

“We are in jail,” I told Grandma. “We’re landlocked.”

Grandma and I have this love of dressing up like ragdolls, with striped shirts, the color pink, patterns. Quite often when I pick her up, we’re wearing something eerily similar.

Her father named her after Lenin. He had two families, our family, and a secret family. He gave all his money to the communists. Grandma had to go begging to him for money. All this responsibility for a little girl.

Sometimes I call her “my little baby Grandma.”

At various times, Grandma and her brothers were in an orphanage. Her mother had periods of insanity (brought on by syphilis given to her from Grandma’s father.) Sometimes Grandma ran away from the orphanage, back home to her mother.

At one point, Grandma was living with her mother, and her brothers were still in the orphanage. She went two streets down and found a brother playing in a school playground. She grabbed his hand and took him home.

“You see this skirt?” she said. “I wore this skirt for you. I thought you’d like it.”

Lady K in 48 years? Maybe. I’d be glad to look like Grandma.

“Do you remember how I used to dress?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said. You wore black or blue polyester pants and you had a couple shirts you wore regularly. You dressed this way most of my life. Then, one day, Grandpa took you shopping, and told you to buy pink for a change. You started wearing all these colorful clothes.”


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