This post has nothing to do with food.
My grandmother -- who has appeared regularly on this blog over the years -- turned 100 on Friday. It felt like a national holiday. Family came from Guatemala and Texas and Rhode Island and friends came from all over the San Francisco Bay Area for the party. My aunt did an outstanding job with the guest list and the menu and the venue and when it was over I was sad.
Justine and I read a limerick:
"She was born Julia Aida
But to us she's always been Dita.
She grew up in Guatemala City
And word has it she was quite pretty
Which makes sense 'cause she still is at fifty. . ."
It went on, but -- hard to believe! -- deteriorated from there.
I then gave a brief, earnest toast about Dita's wonderfulness as a grandmother, citing her steadiness, her absolute consistency, her ability to listen, all of it true and all of it heartfelt, all of it maybe a little boring and missing the impish je ne sais quoi that is so integral to her charm and character.
|1997: Isabel could look a lot better. Dita couldn't.|
|1993: after two margaritas in Panajachel|
|At the party with our friend Ayelet|
I didn't take a single picture Friday so I had to swipe the photo above off Facebook. Too busy making toasts, swallowing happy tears, swallowing wine (oops), and avoiding the crab cakes.
*I had this post all written on Saturday but couldn't bring myself to push the button on account of this baby picture. I think it's adorable, but my grandmother detests it. She thinks it makes her look fat. Which it does. But she was a baby and a lifetime of slenderness cancels out a chubby phase circa 1912, doesn't it? I still feel sheepish about posting it, but I'm posting it, mostly because she doesn't read my blog.