Pepe

Thanksgiving was always my grandmother's holiday. She would spend months perusing gourmet cookbooks carefully planning out the last details of her culinary moment in the sun. A few days before Thanksgiving, she would put the final ingredients down on her list and call for my grandfather, who would appear at the doorway dressed in his typical garb....polyester pants, a flannel shirt, his Members Only jacket zippered all the way to his chin, and on top of his head, his signature black beret made of wool.

The two would take off in their two tone Buick , navigating through the streets of Woodside until they made their way to the removed supermarkets with the discounted prices. He would calculate every penny looking for bargains, she would exchange his carefully chosen items for the brands she was loyal to. He never had a chance. She won every time.

Though Thanksgiving is always associated with my grandmother, the night before belonged to my grandfather. When I was young, I would go to their house the Wednesday before, right after school, to help prepare for the feast. As soon as I would arrive my grandmother would send my grandfather and me back out for last minute additions to the list. In the car I would tell my grandfather about my day and he would tease me, let me listen to my radio station and he would sing along to the latest Micheal Jackson or Elton John hit, my all time favorite is when he did his best Bruce Springsteen. You haven't heard Born in the USA until you heard it in a Spaniard/Cuban accent...stunning....In the market, he would do his thing, calculating and trying to save, while I would do my thing and exchange his choices for the products I knew my grandmother sent us there for. He again, never had a chance. One way or the other, she always won out. But here is where we would do our thing. After we purchased what we were there to buy, we would take a ride over to the Entennmen bakery. There we would pick up a box of coconut macaroons and we would share it all the way home. This of course was hidden from my grandmother who would have yelled at us for wasting time. The rest of the day into the next, I would sneak his favorite appetizer and desserts over to him. The piece de resistance was her infamous Pumpkin cake with the cream cheese frosting which we would attack and then try to reconfigure so that she wouldn't be able to see just how much was really missing.

My grandfather was a man whose wit was sharp and dry. He loved quietly, faithfully and unconditionally. He was forgiving. He was thoughtful. He was layered without the complications of ego. For those viewing from the outside in, because my grandmother was such a strong personality it could appear he was her puppet. For those of us who watch helplessly as my grandmothers memory was taken first, we realized he was never a puppet, but an unbelievably strong man who spent a lifetime deeply inlove with his wife. He let her think she had the control she needed to have, and then he took care of her. My grandfather was a man of his word. And though his words were few, they were fair, they were honest. I never doubted he loved me, he was always there, quiet, by my doorway in his polyester pants, flannel shirt, Members Only jacket zipped up to his chin, and his signature black woolen beret snugly worn on his delicate head.

Every year I make my grandmothers Pumpkin cake with the cream cheese frosting. As I mix the ingredients together, bake my cake and frost it, I think of her......but I as cut it into squares and place it on the serving tray, it's all about him. But then, it always was.......

I'm missing my Pepe...............................