Noike: A Memoir of Leon Ginsburg. Suzanne Ginsburg
heard so much about you Suzala,” I imagined my Grandmother Pesel saying. All of the older relatives liked to call me Suzala; I imagined she would do the same. “Would you like some fluden?” she tilted her head as she asked. “I just took it out of the oven.”
I nodded my head, eager to try the sweet-smelling pastry.
“Save some fluden for me,” my Grandfather Kalman chuckled as he entered the room. “Shall I play some violin for you, mamela? I hear you’ve been taking lessons at school.” My grandfather grinned, somehow sensing that I had been having difficulty.
“Yes, my friend Heidi and I take lessons together,” I replied eagerly. “But we can’t stand our teacher, Mr. Van Houten—he makes us practice the same boring piece over and over.”
We would continue to talk about all of the things that I thought grandchildren and grandparents should know about each other—birthdays, favorite colors, favorite desserts—until I heard someone coming up the stairs. They would nod their heads, letting me know it was all right to say goodbye. As I kissed them through the glass frames, I would tell them that I loved them and promise to visit again soon. Standing on my tiptoes, I would reach forward, carefully placing the photos back on top of the dresser, positioning them exactly as I found them.
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