Grandmas are such a vital part of growing up. I remember mine, God rest there souls, quite vividly.
I'll never forget going over to Grandma Ziona's house to be babysat and how she smelled like a mixture of Coors and bengay. I was always fascinated by the amount of cereal boxes she had stacked around her bed which she used for filing because why waste money on a ridiculous file cabinet. She used to put my hair up in curlers so tight that I couldn't blink and by the time I left I had a wicked afro. She had a major obsession with Shirley Temple so along with the afro I didn't leave without a tap lesson. I got to stay up late and hear stories about the days of old Hollywood back when she was a chorus girl for the different shows and how she met my Grandpa when he was a disc jockey for CBS. I learned what true romance was from them.
My other grandma, Coocoo Grandma, lived in San Jose (do you know the way?). Her name was really Myrtle, but I decided at some point that she deserved a better, more distinguished title. So she acquired the name Coocoo Grandma because, duh, she had a coocoo clock. I only got away with that while I was in the little and cute stage, but once I outgrew that oh so brief stage I was finally asked to stop. At the time, I couldn't for the life of me understand why she didn't want to be called Coocoo Grandma anymore. Poor woman. She also smelled like beer, but this time it was more of a Keystone quality. She grew avocados trees in her kitchen, collected spoons and jarred just about anything you could preserve. Oh, and grew incredibly large vegetables.
While neither of Jake's grandmas smell of cheap beer, they're awesome & memorable just the same. Jake & his little sis are very, very lucky.