Dad's mother, Mary Ellen Regan, born 26 Mar 1873 (?) was a hefty woman, having seven kids after Dad in Brooklyn and died 2 Oct 1962. She had an interesting voice, kinda gravely and a few of her daughters, my aunts, had a hint of her voice. I think I have her nose.

Grandma, in long dresses, walked with a side to side tilt, I guess to accommodate her girth, not that she was obese, just easier to get around in those "sensible shoes."

She lived at 490 12^th St. in a nifty three story brownstone row house not far from the Grand Army Plaza in Brooklyn. She kept her gray hair in a knot at the back of her head. Very grandmotherly. As a kid I got a kick out of playing hide ‘n seek in that house because it had a large (to me) cloak room between the kitchen and the formal living room with its' Tiffany glass chandelier, that allowed sneak eavesdropping on kitchen conversations with cousins and my sister.

There was a formal living room on the second floor where Christmas was celebrated and Uncle Joe, Dad's brother, always took eight millimeter moving pictures of the party.

The kitchen gas stove had a center pilot light used to ignite any of the burners. A button had to be pressed to shoot a long thin flame to each burner to start any burner. I thought that was weird.

Grandma always gave me two sets of pajamas at Christmas.

Mom's mother, Bride C. Jones, born Bride C. Cody in Dublin on 10 April 1867 (?), always protecting of her age, died 27 June 1954. She had very long hair, very gray at the roots, with the rest flaming red and tied back in a knot.

She also lived in a nice three story brownstone row house on 125^th St. in Harlem, New York.

I loved to "go to grandmother's house" on Thanksgiving. It often snowed, much to my parents chagrin. Driving back home to Flatbush was always iffy.

I remember her kitchen. It had a huge (to me) black iron coal stove with a large oven over the range that held the big, browned turkey. Heavy flat iron plates covered the coal box flames that cooked foods in different pots. I remember the smell of that kitchen even today. I think I make my own crock pot stew now because I remember the enticing aroma of her kitchen.

Grandma always seemed interested in having "a coop a tea." She'd boil water in a spouted pot, put tea in an egg-shaped tea steeper then into a serving tea pot and pour boiling water into that serving pot. She always served Carnation® condensed milk with tea. It "took the curse off of the tea." Mom and Dad were not fond of condensed milk. Neither was I, nor was my sister. When the tea was finished, Grandma would have the cups inverted on the saucers, turned three times and then she would "read" the tea leaves. Someone would "come into some money, would meet a stranger" or some other forecast was discerned from the shape of the tea residue in the cups.

Grandma lived her long last days with us in New Jersey. I remember she thought that Kate Smith, the radio singer (God Bless America), then on TV, was talking to her through the TV set and Grandma would converse with her. Her final months were hell on my mom.

I was overseas when she died.

Grandfathers were loooooong gone.