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would rattle off a list of things she would do, from
repainting rooms, to covering bare wood floors, as
well as changing furniture, hanging pictures and
certainly replacing the "old, tired window curtains that
droop over those windows. I'm afraid my daughter
was never much of a homebody," she told me.
"Sometimes, I think she and Tyler could live well in a
tent." My grandfather always laughed about it.
"They're ex-hippies, Elaine."
"Please, spare me."
"That's what makes for horse races," he would
say. "Everyone's different."
My grandmother would just grunt.
She was right about the windows, however. The
curtains--a sheer, faded white material that had long
lost its shape--did seem to droop rather than hang.
Years and years of sunlight had beaten them to
nothing more than yellowing rag material. My
grandmother was sure to be here soon. Why not
impress her by fixing up this room? I thought. And
then I realized what Aunt Zipporah was really after in
asking me to do this. She wanted to be sure I was
committed to living here and I wasn't only playing
with the idea. When my grandmother saw the
changes, she would-be convinced of my intentions as
well.
I started to make a mental list.
Besides the curtains, I thought we should put
down some area rugs. The floor had grayed and aged,
especially in the corners. I didn't feel right asking for
