When I think of Grandma Win, I recall three things:

 

The first is a picture of Grandma and Kerida, in the Jamieson House kitchen, in front of the grapevine cabinet. They are both making incredible faces, and the photo has hung on the wall of our apartment since we lived in Boston. I don't know who took the picture, and I'm not in it, but it's usually the first thing that comes to mind when I think of Grandma. And it makes me smile.

 

The second and third things I think of both involve Grandma performing, in one way or another. One memory is from the summer of 2004. I was home from school in Ithaca for the summer, interning on the morning show at WZZN in the mornings, and working at Subway in the afternoon/evenings. I was getting up at 3 am to drive to the loop three times a week, and learning that commercial radio ain't what it's cracked up to be, and that being an intern is everything they tell you it will be, but hoping I was doing the right thing and getting my foot in the door. I somehow found out that Grandma would be performing as part of a showcase of seniors at the Chicago Theater, which was right across the street from the station. Well, I thought, I'm down here anyway, I never get to see Grandma perform, I should go see it. So I stuck around after my shift one weekday (luckily the show was at 2 pm or something, so I didn't have too much time to kill) and watched this whole variety show of senior citizens, with various levels of talent. I don't remember any of the other performances, but I do remember that Grandma sang a ballad, and of course she nailed it. Afterwards, she was SO happy that I came, and I got to assure her that the dancers didn't take anything away from her gorgeous voice. 

 

The other memory that I will always have is of Christmas time, when she would read us the Polar Express each year. Such a great book, and Grandma read it with such enthusiasm, us kids sitting at her feet next to the Christmas tree that always had the huge lights. She would pause after each page to make sure we all could see the pictures. When they made the movie a few years ago, one thing they got exactly right was making sure to have each illustration from the original book as a frame in the movie. I knew exactly when those appeared - the train with the steam, the silver bell glistening in Santa's hand - and I could hear Grandma's voice. It's sort of the only reason to watch the movie, is for the childhood memories.

 

Love,

Briavael Rose

 

Memory of Grandma

The phone rang awfully early for a Saturday morning. Still in bed, I mumbled “Good morning?” and I was answered with a chipper greeting from my long-time pal Cristina.

“Hey! Do you want opera tickets for this afternoon? Some customer gave them to my parents and they don’t want to go,” she explained. Cristina’s family owns an Italian restaurant on the south side, and their loyals customers are always giving them tickets to things. They’re a bit bored of it, luckily for me.

“You don’t want to go?” I asked Cristina, groggily sitting up.
“No, I have work. You can pick them up at the crepe place, I’m here all morning.”
“I’ll be there.”
Having never attended a full-length opera, I was more than willing to sacrifice my day off for the chance to go. And I didn’t have to think for more than a moment about who I could take as my companion.
“Hi Grandma!” I was saying into the phone a few minutes later, “What are you doing today?”
“Well, Meg-Meg,” she answered, “I just got up. I was reading this book of poetry... Why?”
“Well, I just acquired free tickets to ‘The Marriage of Figaro’ at the Lyric-”
She cut me off, “Oooh! I’ll get dressed!”
An hour later I zoomed up to Grandma’s place in Cristina’s Audi (we switched cars for the day; there was no way Grandma was getting into my giant truck). Feeling very fancy indeed, Grandma and I left the car at the opera house valet, and found our seats. Center section, first floor! This was not an experience we could expect again anytime soon.
I marvelled at the scenery (of course), with the steeply raked stage and the flying doors and columns. We laughed at the disguises and the physical comedy bits, pointed out our favorite feathered-and-festooned gowns, squeezed one another’s hands and teared up during the most poignant arias. When it was over, we took our time leaving the beautiful opera house, and grinned at each other, despite the cold, while we waited for the valet.
I’ll never forget how eager and absolute Grandma was about putting aside anything else to spend the day with me: soaking in a great piece of art, just the two of us. It was a perfectly lovely afternoon.

Much love,
Meg

[Used with Permission.}