Baba’s loving sentiments that the all-but-forgotten promise conveyed were dear to my heart
Although there was a school bus that brought several of us hick-towners to Flatbush and Boro Park daily, I was excited to stay at my grandparents’ home, a ten-minute walk from school, several times a week.
My gracious grandmother made up the pretty little pink-and-cream bedroom. It became my own, replete with my aunt’s beautiful old vanity, flowered linen, and an extra heavy, puffy, real down blanket.
Oh, how I loved that comforter. And my grandmother loved how much I loved using the “puchene kuldra” as she called it (in Yiddish? Polish? A combination?). I felt pampered, like a princess, as I drifted off each night in regal comfort.
As soon as the winter winds blew into Brooklyn, my grandmother climbed her ever-ready step stool and removed my puchene from its cozy, moth-ball-filled summer home to air it out.
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