A tale of two grandmothers

Once, I had a grandma and a nana, and they couldn't have been more different.

My grandma, my dad's mother, was round and soft and called me "bubbeleh." When we played hairdresser, her hair felt fluffy under my fingers. In all things, she was unhurried, unruffled. "It's fine" was her favorite phrase -- no one should go to any trouble; there was rarely any need to get upset. My mom told me recently that she and my dad had visited my grandma's grave and noticed it needed landscaping. I said, "But you know Grandma, she'd say, 'Don't worry about it! It's fine!'"

This summer, Phil and I stopped by the "bungalow colony" in Hopewell Junction, NY, where my grandma spent her summers. She's been gone more than 10 years, but some of the residents still remembered what a nice lady she was.

My nana, my mom's mother, was slim and angular with hair that felt like straw. She had a quick mind and prided herself on her ability to stay current with the times -- once bragging to us that she was a proficient VCR programmer.

When I was a little girl, Nana picked me up from school every Wednesday afternoon. When my teachers asked, "Is that your grandmother?" I was always perplexed. "No," I would say as it if were obvious, "that's not my grandmother, it's my nana."

See, there's a definite difference between a grandmother and a nana, and Nana embodied it. 

She had her own sense of style. She proudly wore the same pink suit to my bat mitzvah, in 1996, and my wedding, in 2009.

She had her own way of cooking and baking. "I used margarine instead of butter, and egg whites instead of eggs, and you can't even tell the difference!" she would say. 

She even had her own way of leaving a voicemail. "Rachel, it's Nana. Everything's fine," she would emphasize, as if I would fear she would only call me if something terrible had happened. Then she would tell me to send everyone her love and give them a kiss from her. 

But most of all, Nana had her own way of making me feel like the smartest, funniest, most special person in the world. 

It was Nana who taught me how to crack an egg, how to "window shop" and how to effectively stockpile frozen leftovers. It was also Nana who taught me about impeccable manners, loyalty and integrity. She was, as they say, a real lady.

Both my grandma and my nana are gone now. But both of them left indelible impressions on who I am.

Whenever Eli spills something and I take a deep breath and say, "It's OK, that's no problem," I think of my grandma.

Every time I say to Phil, "Don't throw it out! We can freeze it!" I think of my nana.

When I taste a Werther's caramel, I think of my grandma. When I bake chocolate chip cookies or hamentashen on Purim, I think of my nana.

In one important way -- my grandma with her insistence that no one should worry about her, my nana with her reassurance that everything was OK -- my grandmothers were alike: They wanted to know their families were happy. They took immense pride in their children and grandchildren, and like true Jewish grandmothers they kevlled with joy when we were all together.

So to them I'd like to say: Nana and Grandma, it's Rachel. Everything's fine. And I'll give everyone a kiss from you.