Generation Bubelah: My grandmother

When I walk through the sliding glass doors to Heritage House, a Jewish senior center in Columbus, Ohio, there is a specific odor that tickles the small hairs on the inside of my nose. The scent makes me dread coming to this place; it is the smell of death and decay. My grandmother, Miriam, who I have forever called Mommo, lives in room 250 at the end of the beige hallway. She is eighty-six, looks seventy-two and is legally blind.

"They want me to die in this?" she says, her grip tight around her walker as we tour the building. "You do know, honey, this is the last stop before Epstein’s (the Jewish funeral home on Main Street)." 

Unable to live well in an ugly room, she hires an interior designer.  All of the furniture from the house my grandfather built her is moved in. The pictures of her children and grandchildren that once hung above her king size bed are now over the twin- size bed that is snug against the wall. She has Hanukah cards taped to the door as well as a picture of Israel and a Shabbat Shalom sign.

On our way to lunch, we pass a glass case that houses six little birds,

"Hi birdies," she says, looking into the case, "you warm in there?"  We head into the dining room toward table number two.

"Who's that?" she says to a gentleman with sunken cheeks and visible veins in his arms.  "Oh, Sanford. Hey how are you." We keep waiting, she turns and whispers, "I wish they would get some better men in this place - all the ones here are oogle boogle."  We arrive at table two.  Ruthie and Esther are already seated with bibs around their necks. 

"So what do we have today, ladies?" Mommo says, plopping into the wooden chair. Ruthie, who is legally deaf, continues staring ahead at Esther.  Esther, who wears a flower dress, turns slowly to my grandmother and says, "salad."

"You mean the wilted salad we have every day?"

A lady with a hairnet walks over and drops the salad on the table; Mommo looks over to me and rolls her eyes. She has been at the same lunch table for a year, which is pretty good considering most people either leave for Epstein’s or get transferred to another table because my grandmother asks.  The entrée is set down seconds after the appetizer; a lox plate served with Bagel & Cream Cheese, Cucumber Tomato & Onion salad.

"What's this on my plate?" Mommo says, picking it up with both hands to see, she turns to Ruthie, who is staring straight ahead.

"Is this what I ordered?" She looks to me. "Looks like scrambled eggs."

Esther turns towards my grandmother to see what she is talking about. She leans over and my grandmother pushes her away with her hand.

"Well then," Esther says, throwing her napkin on the table, "will you be at bingo around 2?" She starts to get up, "I'll save you a seat."
 
"I don't know." Mommo says, smearing cream cheese on her bagel.

"What, you got something better to do?"

"I don't see the board real well - it isn't worth it. If you win, they give you twenty five cents."

"But you don't pay for the cards," Esther says, smoothing her dress then reaching for her walker.

"Well, I'll look for you."

Mommo turns toward Ruthie, then towards me, "The company around here is wonderful don't you think? The truth is, I don't like playing Bingo with Esther. She sits next to me and says, 'Miriam, you've got it here, here and here.' It drives me nuts. That's the most important thing around here, they all go to Bingo."

After her stroke, my family thought it best to have someone look after my grandmother.  The first woman was a little bit crazy and my grandmother called her "The Christian" because she was convinced she was trying to convert her to Christianity. "She read to me from the New Testament."  The next lady was called "The Kleptomaniac." And the last woman before Heritage House was Minnie. Minnie would take my grandmother to the supermarket, doctor appointments, shopping and anywhere else she wanted to go, her nickname was "Minnie Ha Ha."  Minnie Ha Ha was the only woman my grandmother fired directly, claiming she had opened an unopened cake. "I mean do people these days go around opening unopened cakes? I was going to bring that to a funeral." Being at Heritage House, my grandmother has yet to give out nicknames. But the staff has found one for her, "The Queen."

"For Breakfast everyone comes at 8:15 but 'The Queen' strolls in and parks her walker around 9" the hairnet lady says.

"She talks a good game," Mommo says, feeling around the table for the water.

"When I don't have what "The Queen" wants, I'm a dog."

"You sure are honey," Mommo says, "a dog with a hairnet."

The hairnet lady puts down a small plate of blueberry pie. Mommo tries to see what it is, then picks up her fork and cuts a bite. Bringing it to her mouth, she drops a little on her lap and mutters, "My pies were much better then this." She turns toward Ruthie, who has already left the table, then she notices me, "She didn't even say goodbye when she left. Why didn't she say goodbye?"

Putting her two hands on the table, she pushes herself to standing. Once stable she quickly boogies in place then wobbles to her walker. Passing the birds she says again "Hi birdies, you warm in there?" Back in the room she sits with her legs propped on the yellow and white chair that once was off limits to anyone with shoes on their feet. Instead of going to bingo, she turns on PBS, picks up a tweezer and pulls out her chin hairs.