I had a bit of inspiration recently that compelled me to think about Annie’s Grandma, she went by “Nani” (Nah-Nee). She was born Christmas Day 1925, today she would have been 90 years old.
She was a little tiny feisty lady. She was Italian and always dressed the part. She had oversized coke bottle eyeglasses and had a thick Rhode Island accent. “Come hee-ah Honey, gimme a hug! Way-uz my dahling Lydia?”
I met her back when Annie and I were still dating. I had her number from the very beginning. That day, that first day I met her, we all decided to visit the beach on Lake Michigan. She threw her shawl on, grabbed her cane and we made our way down to my car.
Annie stopped her at the car, “Nani? You can sit in the front seat, it might be a little easier that way. I can sit in back.”
“No no no Honey, I’m fine sitting in the back! You two Lovebirds ought to sit togeth-uh up front.”
My car at the time was a two-door Beretta. The backseat—well, one can sit there. I guess you could call it a backseat, realistically it’s more of a “symbolic” backseat. Getting back there can be a bit of a struggle even for younger individuals with surer legs. Getting Nani in and out of that backseat would be a very unnecessary and possibly hazardous bit of work. She could turn stubborn about this. This was a critical moment, this moment would end up defining our relationship for the rest of our time together on this Earth.
I interrupted the discussion just as Annie was about to speak her rebuttal, “Nani?” I said, “Annie hasn’t’ been to Sheboygan for a couple years, and this is my first time visiting this city. It’s terribly unfamiliar. Would you do me the honor and favor of sitting up front with me and navigating all of us to the beach?”
She replied before I could even finish the last word, “I would be delighted Honey.”
I smiled, “Please allow me to hold the door for you pretty lady.” Annie stared at me, astounded, grateful.
As Nani settled into her seat, “Your man is a keepah Annie. He’s a keepah.”
From that day forth, she was my “pretty lady”. I think my poll numbers with her might have surpassed Annie’s as time went on.

I Loved her. She was no mere Grandma-In-Law. In my heart, she was actually a new Grandma.
She was practically blind the last several years of her life. She accepted the limitations of her condition, but never rolled over to them. She was fiercely, not foolishly independent. She lived on her own all the way to the end of her life. She lived across the street from Sheboygan’s lighthouse. There is a long concrete walkway, leading out into the lake to the Lighthouse. Lake Michigan has given that walkway a fair beating, there are some pretty crooked misaligned, buckled and hazardous spots along the way. I’ve walked out there a couple times. It’s not a horribly difficult walk, but when you return to shore, it’s pretty easy to have a feeling of pride afterward. It was incredible pride I felt when Nani told us she took the walk all by herself. “I nevuh took the walk alone! I had to do it, I’m not getting any Young-uh ya know.” She would pass away within months of knocking that item off of her Bucket List.
She was welcoming and gracious and incredibly easy to talk to. Every Christmas she had a box of clementines set aside just for me. Perhaps she had my number from the very beginning as well.
We Loved her so much, that our daughter Regina is named after her. I wish Reggie could have had a chance to meet Nani. They would have made great mischief together.
Annie, a lady blessed with culinary talent, has always said, “Love is possibly the most important ingredient with cooking.”
As much as I agree with her, Love didn’t have a hope in hell of saving Nani’s dishes. Annie’s gift did not come from Nani. I recall a plate of green beans, tortured and overcooked to the point where they had the consistency of an earthworm that was kept on the fishing hook for too long. They seemed to be staring up at me, groaning, begging for it all to end. Everything, and I mean everything (except the marshmallows, always marshmallows in that house!) pretty much came out of dusty tin cans.
She was incredibly charismatic, a beloved figure to pretty much everyone who met her. It astounded me how many people knew and adored her, there were so many times we were all out and stopped by someone so that they could have a brief conversation with her. There were even persons knocking on her patio door to simply stop in and visit.
She was a pincher. No rear ends were safe from her. If she had an opportunity, she pinched a butt. And she had a surprisingly strong grip. I think she might have actually left a little mark on my back end. I’ve watched Annie and Lydia both let out a little squeak as she stealthily slipped past them.
Nani and Lydia adored each other. She didn’t seem to need her cane when Lyd was around. She’d get herself down to the floor, down to Lyd’s height, and make a twenty minute long game involving a teddy bear and a wicker basket. For anyone who’s ever dealt with a toddler, twenty minutes is an eternity and deserves a salute.
Then one very hot and muggy day in August 2011, Lydia and I were Home. She wasn’t even two years old. She woke up early from her nap and was being cranky about pretty much everything. I was carrying her around from room to room, bouncing her, trying to keep the whining low. We both took a look out our front window. Suddenly she brightened up, “Nani! Hi Nani!” she began waving and laughing. As far as my reaction went, I looked at her, then out the window, nothing but our front yard, I looked back at Lyd again a little confused, but that was about it, I didn’t think much more of it.
Twenty minutes later, my phone rang, it was Annie calling from work. She was crying.
A few days later we were at a funeral home in Sheboygan, paying our final respects, sobered and united in grief. All of us but Lydia that is. She slept horribly the night before, napped horribly, she refused to sleep during the drive and was not making what was already a heart-wrenching day any easier. Annie was a wreck. The best I could do was damage control. My job was little more than Lydia containment. Let Annie mourn without worrying about diapers. I saw to it that Annie would not have a cranky daughter to deal with. The bad news for me was that I practically missed the entire service. The good news was the Priest didn’t need to compete with Lyd’s screaming and tantrums.
Just as the service was ending, I got back inside the Funeral Home with Lyd strapped into her umbrella stroller. The casket was closed, they were taking her to the Hearst. Lyd saw the closed casket and yelled “Bye Nani!” while waving. Annie and her Mother were speechless.

What prompted me to write about Nani?
The other day, “Butt! Butt! Butt!” jarred me out of a bad case of writers block, I peeked over my laptop screen. Lydia was trying to pull her pants up, but had to abandon the task to take flight. Regina was laughing hysterically while chasing Lydia in circles, she was trying to pinch and/or poke Lyd’s butt. It’s an old routine, Reg has been going after Lyd’s butt since she was able to walk. She’s been known to sneak up on me and Annie as well. I smiled at them before the realization of her namesake having a similar tendency froze my expression. I took a quick look upward, “Thanks for that one, Pretty Lady! I think I’m going to write about you.”
Happy Birthday Nani.
To my Friends, my family, my Loved Ones, let’s take a lesson from Nani and try to live a life that will leave kind, joyful and happy memories. Merry Christmas to you all.
If you think of it, make an old lady in Heaven smile, pinch the butt of someone you Love.