1254 Wycombe Ave.

Leaky Eyes is my grandmother. We call her Leaky for short. I made up that nickname for her after Jackie turned to me one day, one of the first times she had met my mom's mom and said,

"Kris, do you know that your grandmother's eyes constantly leak?"

Of course I knew that; they had been leaking for as long as I could remember. Ever since I would go to the house she shared with my Grandpop everyday after school. Their house, the end row home, was surrounded by a huge yard and around the yard was a green chainlink fence. I would arrive at the house after a long day of 3rd grade and ever-so-quietly open the gate. I tried to never make a noise, so that I could sneak up on my Grandpop in his chair as he watched The Price Is Right.

On days where I must have had a lot to drink at school, I would race up the cement steps, through the teeny foyer and into the living room of their house, the plush red carpet at my feet.

"Here she comes!", my Grandpop would yell. "Her shoes are off, her backpack down, and she's right up the stairs, that was a record folks!" And I was up the narrow stairway to the bathroom.

It's funny the things you remember.

Leaky is moving soon. No, she doesn't know that we call her that. Her name is Margaret, like my mom, more affectionately known as Babe to her sisters and friends. So Grandmom Babe is moving soon. Settlement for a little condo in Boothwyn is Friday, May 26th. I find myself over at her house more and more often. It is like I know it won't be there long.

Down the basement steps, in place of a banister, are long, beaded hangings. Things you might see in some sort of Tarrot readings place, or a hippie's bedroom. These...beaded hangings (hangings is the only word I can think of to use) have been there forever also. My Mom said they'd been there since she was a little girl. She used to grab a handful of them and pretend they were her hair. I did the same thing and often.

The smell of the house will never leave me. It's cooking and garlic and moth balls and permanent solution. This may be a good time to mention that Babe is a hairdresser (just like Mom) and has a small saloon in her basement. My Grandpop won the lottery and had it built for her and then he won again and put a bathroom down there. It's small, but serves its purpose of a meeting place for all of her friends to come and have their silver hair washed, cut, dried, dyed and curled. During those afternoons after school, I would venture down there and sweep the hair from the floor. The old ladies would dote. My Grandmom would boast. She still does.

Yesterday, I came for dinner and had to rush in to go to the bathroom. My Grandpop was not there for the play-by-play and there was no schoolbag on my back. It was eerily familiar.

It's funny the things you remember...