Standards

We just returned from a visit to my maternal grandmother's house in Kyneton, about an hour NW of Melbourne. I have always been nervous about introducing people (read: males) to my grandmother as she used to adhere to a standard of etiquette that would make Miss Manners swoon. When I was little, the most commonly heard phrase at the dinner table (which was set formally every night) was, "How would you behave if the Queen was here?" I had noticed, while in Malaysia, that Z manipulated his cutlery with his elbows somewhere up around his ears, a move that would have guaranteed a, "Where are you flying to, dear?" said pointedly, with snide haughtiness. This from the same grandmother who begged me not to marry an American as that would give me more reason to not return to Australia.

Needless to say, I was nervous to introduce the two of them. I had nothing to worry about. Last night, my grandmother said that she would like to keep Z. No, she had no need for mum and I to stay; just Z, thank you very much. I think what really enamored her was his ability to dry dishes. She just wouldn't stop going on about how her husband would never - Never! - have done anything in the kitchen; that was women's work. How things have changed! I would never - Never! - have considered marrying anyone who wouldn't help out in the kitchen. And I don't know a woman who would.

She's softened up a lot, my grandmother has. She's a bit wobbly on her feet and a looks a lot more frail. She has trouble thinking of the word she wants to say. Yesterday she was telling us a story about entertaining important guests when she lived in Malaysia. The food was taking a long time to appear so she went into the kitchen to see what the problem was. She found the cook on his hands and knees picking up (and here she fumbled) white stuff from the floor. What is that stuff called, she asked us? Rice? we guessed. Pasta? Spaghetti? Noodles? Rice? Finally, I said potatoes - and she was off to finish the story. She had the cook hurriedly wash the potatoes and serve them because the guests had already waited too long for the food. There was so much emphasis on looking right in that social circle and at that time. This also explains why she once served tea after seeing a cockroach floating in the tea pot: she couldn't admit that there were vermin in the kitchen! But don't worry - mum cooked the food on this most recent visit. Nothing fell on the floor or came into intimate contact with any kind of insect. I think.

It was great to see my grandmother again. I came to Australia in 2001 and saw her for what I thought would be the last time. I've seen her twice more since. To say that I'm glad she and Z had a chance to meet would be an understatement.

She's intent on being remembered - she wants to give her things away to people who will treasure them and use them. She gave us a beautiful silver pitcher that, she explained, allows one to have the wine decanted and ready to serve as soon as the guests arrive. Like I need things to remember my grandmother by. She will always be with me through her stories, her love of animals, her table manners and that stubborn streak that runs thick through the blood of this family's women. While looking through some old photographs, Z pointed out that she and I looked alike as young girls. I think it was the set of our jaws. I've never seen that resemblance before; it's one more way to remember her.