Grandma

My Grandmother is 92 years old. Born in Brooklyn, grew up during the Great Depression. Was an exotic dancer in the 50's, and met my grandfather in a club, a piano player. Had a daughter in the 60's, and spent the summer of love in Greenwich Village before moving to Queens. She and my mother moved to California in the early 70's after the death of my grandfather. 

 She talks in circles, brings up the same stories from the past over and over. 

The police raid at  "The Flamenco" (the name of the club she danced at has changed in the multiple retellings of the story, but that one stuck in my mind): hustling drinks to a plainclothes NYPD officer, he tells her what's going down, chaos, the drummer points to the back door, and out.

 Or one of her boyfriends;

 "He was kind of a pinko", she says. "Tried to strangle me". 

She has dementia. That's why she talks in circles. 

I love her stories, so I don't mind. 

Her personality is still there, but it has somewhat lost its shape. It still guides her actions and speech, but only after passing through the foggy lens that prevents her from remembering, whether it be words, people, places. Her communication must be read on a more conceptual level, as she sometimes speaks freely from context. Ironically, she is constantly reminding us of things from the past; strings in her mind that are still attached are the most traversed. 

And the feeling I get from ever interaction with her is pure love. She is still deeply humorous and wise, just a bit scrambled. They don't make them like her anymore.  

She was also kind enough to model for my first venture into large format photography. The following photos were taken on a Newton New-Vue 4x5 from the mid-late 40's, on Shanghai 3Gp 100 ISO 4x5 film.