WHEN GRANDMOTHERS ATTACK

Okay, I have a ridiculous hatred of raincoats. I don't know what it stems from: it's not like I have a memory of Childhood Raincoat Trauma.

I read a book once about a girl whose mother hated yellow slickers, so she always had to have fancy rain outfits: I remember a description of one that was pink with black trim, including a pink riding helmet with a plastic-covered black velvet button on top. But the girl in the book wanted a yellow slicker patched with duct tape and a pair of rubber boots.

I wanted both---geez oh man, I wanted the elegant fancy pink raincoat with a hat AND the goofy Paddington slicker that would make me Part of the Crowd. Of course, this was a book about a girl in high school, and I was in elementary school, so it wasn't really applicable. As a child, I was always aching for whatever I read in a book. I mean, for real---if I had read a book about fois gras on toasted challah, I probably would've laid on the floor and longed for duck liver. (As I am now.)

In sixth grade, in Slidell, I had a red raincoat with metal latches that had a tan canvas lining printed with red and green ducks. I hated those ducks. It wasn't so much the rest of the jacket (I liked the latches), but those ducks! That tan canvas! I hated it so much. And, you know, I was At An Age. It was raining, and time to go to school, and I wanted an umbrella, but Mom wanted me to wear my raincoat, and I launched into one of those emotion storms that children have. I threw myself to the floor, wailing, and Mom's response has become a standard family joke: "Get! Up! Off! The! Floor! You! Are! Not! A! Slave!"

At the time, I thought something along the lines of "But I am! I am a slave to the raincoat!" but how funny is that?

When Mimi would come to stay with us, she'd let us use umbrellas. Well, and eat grilled cheese sandwiches on TV trays for dinner, so it was like Child Vacation in Heaven.

But Grandmom: now she had a fetish for rain bonnets. Heaven forbid it should look like 82% humidity, because she would bring a handful of little plastic containers from her purse and we'd have to put those wicked things on. I liked the containers---the lids would make a nice popping sound when you opened them, and the best ones had ball-chain loops so you could put them on your keychain. I liked unfolding the bonnets, which were always cleverly mashed up like little plastic maps, and they never ever ever folded up the same way or fit very well inside the containers.

I did not get the point of the plastic rain bonnets: they kept the top part of my hair dry but not the bottom, didn't keep the rain out of my eyes, didn't keep my clothes dry. The main result was a dry scalp and sweaty ears. But Grandmom always made us wear one at the first sight of rain.

As much as I hated them, I'd give a lot to have another one now, for Grandmom to make me wear one of those dumb, useless hats.

Amazing culinary prowess: age 8!

The summer I was 8, I decided that I wanted to learn to cook.

Mom and I trooped off to Coburns (just over 2 miles straight downhill), where I picked out a box of Duncan Hines spice cake mix and matching frosting. (1) I liked the color and (2) "spice" sounded super fancy, like something out of Narnia.

Back at Innisfree, Mimi set out a footstool for me. I cracked an egg! Then Mom fished the pieces of shell out. I stirred that cake mix with all the strength in my little twig arm. Later, when the cake was cool, Mom inverted the two layers and I used every molecule of frosting. Geez oh man did it smell good: clove and cinnamon and just like I had hoped. It was all I could do not to quiver into another dimension, waiting for dinner to be over.

After dinner, we repaired to the terrace. "Does anyone want cake?" I asked. *I* wanted cake, let me tell you.

"I get the first piece." Gogo said. "A big one!"

I brought him a piece of cake as big as his head. He ate the whole thing. "Delicious!" he said.

I thought, "Great! I am a really good cook!" And of all the things I have felt insecure about in my life, I never once doubted my ability to cook yummy food.