My Grandmother, my Mother’s Mother (I never knew my Father’s parents), was a short stocky women, who moved with a bouncy step that made you get out of her way without being told. She almost always knew what she was doing and what she was going to do in the very minute. Except, that is, when she married her second husband who was a dirty, lazy, uncouth person who thought he was the owner of my Grandmother’s bakery (The Star Bakery) just because she married him, but that’s another story.
My Grandmother kept the bakery going after my Grandfather died early in his age, and kept house for my Mother, my Aunt Sarah, my uncles Sam & Rudy, until the sisters grew up and they helped with the cooking and cleaning. Boobie took care of everything and made sure that the bakers came in on time and baked out the bread for the next day.
My earliest memories were of a woman, wonderfully sweet-smelling of the food she was fixing for the next meal, who would hug me to her ample bosom for no special reason, except that I was there at the time. She would talk to me in Yiddish always knowing that I couldn’t understand her.
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