My parents moved to sunny southern California after helping my Aunt Jo transplant her family from Chicago to Palm Springs. It wasn’t right away, so I missed the infamous incident where my father apparently took the lights off of a Jack in the Box drive-thru with the moving truck. But after at least four years, they packed me up and left the brutal winters behind. My grandmother followed us. I was her baby’s (my mom is the youngest of six) baby and apparently she wanted to be around to watch me grow up. And here is where the randomness of this post starts.
Today my mom arrived to take care of Baby A so I could get some much needed work done. She drove through the craziness that was the Michael Jackson Memorial in downtown LA to be here. Even to me it seems like crazy lengths of loyalty to play with an 11-month-old. But I guess that is what Ya-Yas (Greek for grandmother) do.
So this post is to celebrate the Ya-Ya’s in my life. Today is the birthday of my grandma and my Aunt Jo (the first woman I knew to be called Ya-Ya). As for my mom, I appreciate that these women raised her. Recently I wrote about my grandma in The Wheel Watcher. She passed when I was seven so my memories of her are few.
My Aunt Jo stepped in for her. My fondest memory of childhood was playing dress up in her shoe closet. She had been a shoe model at Imagin and had fabulous shoes as a result. My favorite were a pair of silver glittered heels that had her name in them—first in the left; last in the right—that were designed especially for her. I loved those shoes and when I grew out of them (at the young age of 10) I was so sad. Her closet definitely was the impetus of my shoe fascination now.
So on this July 7, I wish my Auntie Jo a wonderful birthday, remember my grandma and appreciate Baby A’s ya-ya (my mom).