starfrosting | olive juice

Today as Shabbos was ending we visited my grandmother, my dad's mom down in Warminster, framed photos filling the surprisingly-cozy apartment and piano-top, rooster tchotchkes and blue glassware and a whole hook/rack devoted to outlandish red hats, feather boas and purple accents galore. When we got there she fixed me a drink, some good (cheap?) vodka called Pravda on the rocks with a jalapeno-stuffed olive, said, "You need this, after what you've been through" which felt like the perfect grandmotherly medicine, acknowledgment and tonic.

She brought us mixed nuts in little glass dishes, showed off her surprisingly-good $14 wig from a catalogue and the others in rotation, and told us great if likely confabulated family stories as the sun set hot pink and smoky indigo over the parking lot outside. Then she kicked us out cos she had to go to dinner with her UpWords club friends or something, promise of a visit up to the city soon, maybe for the opera.

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