There's No Such Thing!

    Nellie has a fascination (you might almost call it an obsession) with the clothes she sees the news anchors wear. There are two pretty young women whose program begins while I'm there, and neary every week she demands how on earth they can always have new dresses. "You see what they're wearing today? I've never seen those dresses before, and they'll never wear them again! How can they afford new clothes every single day?"
    I've tried to suggest that maybe some business sponsors their wardrobe, but that doesn't seem to make sense to her.
    One week, the blonde anchor wore a black and white animal print ruffled top. Nellie kept looking back at her, distracted from our conversation, until finally she couldn't stand it any longer. "What's with her blouse?" she asked. "I don't understand what it's supposed to be. Is it grey?"
    "It's black and white, like a leopard," I explained.
    "Black and white? But leopards are yellow and brown." She was still confused.
    "It's a snow leopard, I think. They're white with black spots."
    "A snow leopard? I've never heard of such a thing."
    "They're kind of like white tigers--have you seen those? Except with spots instead of stripes. You know, the tigers that look like zebras." Perhaps I was not really making sense after all; Nellie seemed even more bewildered.
    "What? I don't understand. Leopards, tigers, lions...big cats? Grrr?"
    I laughed. "Yes, 'grrr.' That's what I'm talking about. They all say 'grrr.' Except the zebras, of course. I don't know if they make any sound."
    She waved her hand impatiently. "Forget about the zebras. We're talking about leopards. But leopards aren't black and white--they're yellow and brown."
    "I promise, there are snow leopards who are black and white. Don't you believe me?"
    Nellie was not convinced. "I've never heard of any such thing in all my life, and I'm eighty-six years old. You're less than half my age. How could you know about something I've never heard about? Where did you see them?"
    I tried to remember. "Oh, on television..."
    "There!" she shook her finger triumphantly. "Just because you saw it on television doesn't mean it's real. There's no such thing."
    I rolled my eyes and recalled another example. "I've seen them at the zoo, too."
    She slumped. "You have?"
    "Yes, so they have to be real."
    The evidence had stacked against her, and she finally gave in. Mostly. "Oh, alright. But what about her blouse? You said they're black and white, but her blouse is grey."
    "Well," I reasoned, "it's really white with black spots but you see it as grey because you can't see it clearly and it all mixes together."
    Nellie frowned. "How do you know that I see it that way?" she demanded suspiciously.
    "Because you read everything like this!" I held my hand about four inches away from my eyes. "Maybe if you moved really, really close to the television, you could see the spots."
    She brightened. "Maybe so! I'll try it." And she moved her chair near enough to peer closely at the new anchor's blouse. "You're right! It's white with black spots!"

Oops.

    Lindor truffles are among Nellie's favorite candies. Of course, she also likes Swedish fish and cordial cherries and...well, pretty much anything. But she really loves Lindor chocolates, so when she asked me if I could buy her some I wasn't surprised.
    "Are they for anything special?" I wondered.
    "Oh, they're for a lady who works here. Her birthday is coming soon, and she's such a nice lady that I want to give her a present. She's seventy or something, and such a nice person.
    I was happy to comply. "Sure I will. Do you want a card too?"
    "Yes, a pretty birthday card--you can write something nice in it like 'I congratulate you on your birthday and wish you health and happiness'--you know what to write."
    "Alright. What's her name?"
    Nellie hesitated. "I think it's Samira."
    I laughed. "Are you sure?"
    "You know me too well, don't you?"
    "Yes," I answered, "I can remember a time not very long ago when you couldn't remember my name!"
    She chuckled sheepishly. "But I know your name now! It's...um...don't tell me...."
    I shook my head in amazement.
    "Is it...Jennifer?"

Don't Talk to Strangers

     I was sick again on a Tuesday, and called Nellie to let her know why I couldn't come; otherwise, she would assume that I were dead or at least in the hospital.
    "Hello, Nellie?" There was silence on the other end. "Nellie, are you there? It's Jessica."
    Finally she spoke. "What? I don't understand."
    "It's Jessica," I spoke a little louder. "You know, your friend, the one you call your granddaughter? The girl who comes to see you every Tuesday?"
    Another long silence. Nellie evidently wasn't catching on. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said, her voice hard and flat--and she hung up!
     I looked in disbelief at the "call ended" message on my phone, took a deep breath, and tried again.    "Nellie, it's Jessica," I began quickly. "You know me. I come every Tuesday and we have tea."
    There was a pause, and then she sighed. "Fine," she gave in with obvious incredulity. "What do you want?"
    Exasperated and now exhausted (because I was, after all, feeling fairly awful), I hurried to finish. "I just called to tell you that I can't come today because I'm sick."
    Nellie's voice changed completely as she recognized at last who I was. "Ohhh, Jessica! Now I understand! You're sick? Do you need to go to the doctor? What about the apples? Can your husband come and get the apples? Why do you get sick so much?"
    This was the Nellie I knew.

Golden Fingers

    Nellie was waiting for me at the nursing home entrance. Her first words revealed that she was in much turmoil of spirit: "The little boy fell on his head," she said, without preamble, "and broke into lots of pieces!" I knew exactly which "little boy" she meant; she has two porcelain dolls, about six or eight inches tall, dressed in Russian-style clothes, who live on her shelves and sometimes tumble off for no good reason at all. I had glued his feet (or maybe it was his brother's) a time or two before.
    "Don't worry," I tried to comfort her. "Maybe I can fix him. Let's go see."
    "But there are so many pieces!" She would not be comforted, so we wheeled down the hall and started tea while I inspected the fragments she had gathered. Sure enough, there were quite a few pieces...and try as I could, they didn't quite make a whole head. One was unmistakably missing. I crawled around the floor, peering under the bed and into corners hoping that the last bit would magically appear...but it was nowhere to be found.
     I showed Nellie the triangular hole right in the center of his forehead and told her that I while could glue the rest, there would still be that gap. She brightened up immediately and dismissed the gaping wound as a non-issue: "You have golden fingers," she assured me. "You can do something. Maybe his hair will cover it!"
    "Alright," I agreed, somewhat doubtfully, to make the attempt. "So what is his name? If we're going to fix him, he needs a name."
    "Ummm..." Nellie looked blank.
    "Do you want him to have a Russian name, or an American name?"
    "Well...I'm not sure. Maybe an American name. What's your husband's name, again?" I reminded her, and she seized upon it happily. "His name is Jerry!" she declared.
    There was no way his hair, even bowl-cut as it was, could cover that hole in any manner that looked natural--but with such trust, I had to try. Carefully wrapped in a paper towel, the little boy traveled with me to work, where we have many tubes of superglue; Jerry's story so affected my coworkers that he quickly became a community project. I carefully glued all the pieces until all that remained was that triangle between his eyes.... "Maybe," my boss suggested, "you could use a bit of paper."
    So I took him back home and fashioned a tiny papier-mache patch which, when dabbed with foundation, actually blended pretty well. When Tuesday came again, I showed the finished product to the ladies at work and continued on with a tiny bit of trepidation to Nellie. I wasn't so concerned that she wouldn't be pleased, but that she might refuse to believe that I had used paper to patch him!
    I shouldn't have worried. Nellie was so delighted at Jerry's return that she only shook her head in wonder at how little the hole showed. Smiling happily, she kissed the doll on the head and directed me to put him back on his shelf next to the other little boy. As I gently set him in his place, I asked her if she had a name for the second figure. She shrugged her shoulders. "You name him," she commanded.
    "How about 'Tom'?" I suggested.
    "Thom ee Djeri," she tried out the sounds of the words, nodding with approval. "Very good."
    And so Tom and Jerry live high on Nellie's shelf, where (hopefully) they will stay safely without any more falls.

Happy Birthday

    My phone rang, and I sighed when I saw Nellie's name. Usually when she calls it's for some emergency, such as running out of face cream or being afraid that I'll cut myself on a hypothetical mirror in my purse. Because of this, I always answer her calls with a little trepidation...but I answer, because otherwise she'll work herself into a tizzy and assume that I'm dead.
    There was a sort of confused silence on the other end of the line. I tried again. "Hello, Nellie? Are you there? How are you?"
    Finally she responded. "Oh, yes, ummmm..." I waited, wondering if she had forgotten what she wanted to say.
    "Yes? What do you need?" I prompted.
    And she began to speak, slowly, as if she were reading or reciting. "My dear Jessica, I want to congratulate you on your birthday! I wish you love and health and success and all the best."
    If smiles were audible, she could have heard mine through the phone. It was a traditional Russian birthday wish, such as I hadn't heard in...well, far too many years. "Oh, thank you!" I told her.
    I could almost hear her own smile in reply. "Did I say it right?" she asked happily. Oh, yes. Perfectly right.

The Rabbit

    My sister is expecting a baby. Since Nellie always asks me to tell her something interesting, I relayed the happy news to her. True to form, her first response was rather pessimistic. "I guess you feel sad, then," she said.
    I didn't follow. "Huh? Why would I be sad?"
    "Because you don't have a baby," she replied, as if it were only logical.
    "Oh, no, no, no. I'm not sad at all!" I don't think she believed me at first. Finally I convinced her that really I was very happy for my sister--and even more, I would be an aunt again!
    When I came back the next week, Nellie presented me with a stuffed rabbit--the kind with a carrot, the kind one always sees at Easter, even though it was nearer Thanksgiving than spring. I raised my eyebrows at her. "What's this for? Is it for me?"
    "No, it's for the baby," she answered.
    "The baby?" The connection wasn't immediately obvious, since my sister's baby wasn't due for at least seven months.
    "Yes, yes, your sister's baby. You must save it for two years and then give it to her."
    I chuckled. "Ohhh. I see. Well, alright." I started to poke it into the bag with the tea things.
    "Don't do that!" she commanded. "It'll make him dirty." I rolled my eyes at her and started to put him in my purse instead.
    "No, not there either. That will mess him up."
     So I carried the rabbit under my arm out to the car, where I carefully stuffed him into my purse. What Nellie doesn't know can't hurt her!

Fresh Air

    It was a bright, beautiful day and several of the occupants whose faces I knew were out on the "porch" enjoying the sunshine. One sweet old gentleman waved at me and declared, "She's not here today."
    I thought for sure he was joking, and laughed. "Well, I'd better check," I told him, and started in through the front doors. On the other side of the glass, hidden by the corner of the entrance, I saw Nellie peeking at me--delighted at her own prank. Unable to help laughing again, I shook my finger at her and hurried back outside where all the conspirators were giggling like mad for the fun of playing a trick on me. We sat happily in the sun for a few minutes and then retired to Nellie's room for tea.
    "Did you notice I'm in a much better mood today than I was last week?" she asked me toward the end of my visit. As a matter of fact, I had noticed. The previous week she had been a mess, so I nodded and asked her what was different.
    "Well, I was feeling so sad and depressed that I thought to myself, 'Maybe this is the end. Maybe I'll just die pretty soon.' I told my nephew, and he said to me, 'No, no, you're not going to die. You just need some fresh air!' And so every day I've been sitting outside for a little while, and see what a difference it makes!"