Remembering Nana at 75

Olive Abbott in her White Plains, NY garden at the age of about 56.

Thinking about aging reminded me of my  maternal grandmother Olive Abbott.  She kept house for my family when I was young, since my artist parents were in New York City running a graphic design studio. She was a severe looking New Englander. But a superb  cook, highly skilled seamstress, talented piano player who could belt out everything from Beethoven to Joplin--all by ear. (But, hush, she didn't want people to know she couldn't read music.) She taught me to sew and to bake, and every morning she prepared an egg on toast for me for breakfast in the kitchen right next to my bedroom.

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                               Nana was beautiful to me.                                                                She had  silver gray hair, a patrician look, and beautiful skin                            with transparent thin wrinkles that looked soft as silk. 

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Olive Abbott was a cousin of the the American Quaker poet and advocate of the abolition of slavery, John Greenleaf Whittier (1807-1892)

When I was about eight years old I asked her  an outrageous question. She had just turned 75 and I began thinking of what a great, long life she must have led. So I piped up, "Nana, why do you want to live longer? Haven't you lived long enough?" A long pause followed, so I knew I had said something wrong. But then my grandmother recovered her surprise and said, "No, everyone wants to live as long as they can, and I do too." Now, of course, I understand, and I wish I hadn't asked that question. But I'm happy to report that after that my wonderful, loving grandmother who taught me so much continued to live in almost perfect health for 14 more years to age of 89.

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