Cousin Cookie sent this photo to me. It says, Edward Macus Bar Mitzvah. 1947. I don’t know who Edward is, but my Grandmother is in this photograph, she is the woman all the way to the left, in the middle row. Grandma Libby, my Mom’s mom. She was the youngest child in a large family. She grew up in Brooklyn. Her mother, my Great-Grandmother, traveled to America in the late 1800’s. She took a ship from Europe, she was from Austria. She traveled on the ship alone, with 1 or 2 small children. She was already a widow. She moved to New York, remarried and had more children, 6 living in total, I believe. I never met her, she died when my mom was 13. I knew my Grandma Libby. She had the deepest, most gravelly voice. She smoked cigarettes for at least 40 years. She always had her nails done. They were always perfect. I remember sitting with her in the car when I was a little girl, playing with her hands, touching her finger nails. I poked her under one of her nails and she startled me when she said, “ouch”. I felt so terrible that I hurt her. The funny things is, I would not have that memory at all had I not hurt her. I felt so ashamed that I hurt her, so that memory solidified in my mind. I don’t feel too much shame about it, I have a mostly lovely memory.