My maternal grandmother, Mémère, had 16 grandchildren. Of the 16 she had favorites, and I was one of them. My mother became very ill after I was born, and she took care of me until my mother recovered. Perhaps, that's when the close attachment began. She loved me unconditionally, I'm sure of that. The other grandchildren teased me about being her "pet", and I knew it was true, because she treated us differently, even though she was good to all her grandchildren.
She was a fine, upstanding Catholic lady who spent a good deal of time in church, however, on many a Friday evening she headed out by taxi to one of the illegal gambling establishments in Jefferson Parish, adjacent to New Orleans. On occasion, the police conducted raids on the gambling houses, but my grandmother never got caught. That would have been a hoot. I believe the mafia owned the place she patronized, and the police were well-paid for mostly staying away. It's also possible that the owners were warned of the raids when they came.
She had more than her share of alcoholics in the family, including one son and several sons-in-law, and even as she said, "I damn every drop of liquor that was made", she continued to serve wine on holidays, and she drank the occasional toddy and even gave me a light hot toddy sometimes when I had a cold and fever. She was a prime example and influence for me in living with ambiguities and being a bit of a rebel.
But it was her love for me that I remember most. She would not have refused me anything within reason, and when I'd had enough of the turmoil in my own home, I'd go to spend a few peaceful days at her house, my place of refuge. She'd cook my favorite meals and coddle and pamper me for a spell.
She spanked me only once, when I was about 6 years old. As we were walking home from church one Sunday, my wide-brimmed straw hat blew off my head as we were crossing the street. I turned and ran to get it, nearly into the path of a car. She was so frightened that when we reached her house, she gave me a good one.
Mémère was a gifted pianist and could have had a career playing concert piano, but she married and had seven children, as women were expected to do in those days. I believe that she was frustrated for the rest of her life that she was too busy to keep up with her music. We'd beg her to play, and sometimes she would, but she was so upset when she made a mistake that she wouldn't oblige us often.
She was a superb Creole cook. She spent much of her life in the kitchen, cooking three hot meals each day and having a large crowd of children and grandchildren over for Sunday dinner each week. She never cooked from recipes. Her mother taught her, and she picked up skills on her own. My mother, and my sisters, and I tried to mimic her dishes as best we could, but none of us quite reached the high peak of the best of her dishes. I don't know how she did it.
I wrote the greater part of this post at
OCICBW in the comments, and then I expanded it for use here on my humble blog.