You may know “Yiayia” means “grandmother” in Greek. Our grandmother was Yiayia Maria. Growing up in our house, it didn’t matter whether you were family, friend or neighbor; everybody just called her Yiayia.

She was an amazing woman. She seemed to work from morning until night singing Greek songs, loving us in every way, and generally spoiling the heck out of us. She would stroke our hair and say “Hriso mou!” (“My gold!”) Yiayia was always cooking terrific Greek food and pastries, especially baklava.

Eldest brother likes to tell the story:

I had never paid much attention to how baklava was made until one day in the fourth grade. We each had to pick a country to do a report on in Social Studies. I immediately chose Greece, of course. Mom suggested that I make baklava with Yiayia. That sounded great to me. How hard could it be? I thought we would quickly make it and I’d go play basketball afterward.

We started one afternoon. We had to grind the walnuts. We made a syrup with honey, cinnamon, cloves and citrus. I already couldn’t believe how long it was taking, but everything smelled great. Back then, we couldn’t buy pre-made filo dough. Yiayia had made it while I was at school. Now she put a spotless white sheet over the kitchen table and sprinkled some flour on it. She put some dough on the sheet and we started to roll it out thinner and thinner using a long oak dowel. Yiayia said we had to work fast before it dried out. She drizzled on a little melted butter to keep it moist. And still we kept rolling it thinner!

I said, “It can’t get any thinner Yiayia. How do you know when the dough is ready?” She pointed to a little label in the corner of the sheet. I hadn’t noticed it before. Yiayia said, “When you can read the letters on the label, it is ready, Hriso mou.” Soon I leaned forward and read the words right through the dough.
“One hundred percent cotton, Yiayia!”

Then we spooned out the nutty ingredients and started rolling it up in the filo dough, like the tarp on the infield at the baseball game when it rains. One end cannot be rolled faster than the other, or it will get messed up. We bent over and gently coaxed the long roll of baklava to the other side of the table.

It took all afternoon. I had completely forgotten about playing ball. I didn’t realize it then, but Yiayia was teaching me patience, about quality, and about our heritage. That was almost 50 years ago, and I remember it like it was yesterday.

Today, we use the same recipe, patience and care. And when we make our baklava, there is a little bit of our Yiayia’s love in each piece.

Kali Orexi! (Good Appetite!)
From all of us grandkids at Yiayia Maria’s

My Yiayia doesn’t hear well anymore.

She told me she was sorry she couldn’t understand what I said to her.

I hugged her for a long time and I said “you don’t ever have to be sorry”

Later, when she couldn’t see me, I cried.  And then I thought about how Yiayia really is and then I smiled.

She’s 83, and on my birthday she made dolmathes with avgolemono, because it’s my favorite.  She also made a lemon cake.

Last year when she was 82, she would tell me to relax and rest more because I looked tired all the time.  And then she washed the dishes, and scolded me when I tried to help her.

 When I was a boy, she cooked eggs for me before school.  And if she broke one, she would eat that one and make another one for me.

Every Christmas I would take the presents I bought for my wife to her to wrap.  She told me it was good to buy nice things for my family.  She wrapped the presents carefully and saved the tags in an envelope.

 When she sees my children she starts to sing and she smiles and bends over to hug them, even though it’s hard for her to bend over.

She still cups her hand gently around the back of my head and calls me “hriso mou” which means my gold in Greek.

When Yiayia laughs a lot, it brings tears to her eyes.  When I see that it brings tears to my eyes.

She always goes to sales at stores, and she remembers all of us on holidays, on birthdays, anniversaries, and name days.  Always a card, a gift, a treat to say “you are loved.”

When I was sick she would come and put her hand on my forehead and sing to me.

 She ironed my favorite cloths before I went on a date with Thoula, and she ironed a second shirt in case I changed my mind.

When I was a teenager and always broke, she would give me money for a movie, or a treat, and I never asked her for it.  If I refused it, she would make me take it anyway.

Yiayia told us stories about Greece, about our family, about surviving in America with two children, alone without a job.

This is the same Yiayia that will pick up hot things, things that would make me cry out with pain.  She can hold them.  I think because beneath the loving face is a woman with tremendous courage, and determination, and more pluck than any movie hero.

I’ve never heard anyone say anything bad about Yiayia.

Yiayia always encouraged us.  When we were worried about school or work, she always says “try to do the best”

Yiayia still insists on sitting in the back seat of car even though it is hard for to get in the back.

Now I tell white lies to her, so he will let me do nice things for her.  I also give her too much change back when she gives me money to buy things for her.

If she lives to be 100, I will never be able to repay her for the nice things she has done for me.

The biggest gift we can give her is to be together, to love each other, and believe in God.

One day I stopped over at my mom’s house to use the bathroom, make 5 phone calls, say hi to Yiayia and go!  I was always in a hurry, think fast, talk fast, and decide fast!

I rang the doorbell, Yiayia never locked the door, maybe one of my brothers or my sister had locked it.  Midnite was at the door in an instant.  He was half black lab and half Great Dane.  Although he could look like one of the hounds of hell, especially at night, he was a big loving dog.  He was barking in a friendly way, wagging his bullwhip tail back and forth.  Yiayia came shuffling along about ten seconds later.

She was glad to see me, she was always glad to see me.  She was stooped over slightly, and she walked slowly.  “Hriso mou, come in, come in!  Do you want something to eat?  Come and sit down.  I am in the back room working on the string beans."

“I’m in a hurry Yiayia, I just ate, so I’m not hungry” I said as fast as I could.  After using the bathroom and making some calls I went in the den.  Midnite was lying on the floor next to Yiayia.  He kept his head on the floor and followed me with his dark brown eyes, his tail thumping on the floor twice.

“Is that all you do is sleep?”  I said thump thump.  Although we always scolded Yiayia for leaving the door unlocked, I don’t think Mike Tyson on his meanest day would have had a chance with Midnite.

I think Yiayia was about eighty then, and the house was really warm.  It seems like she wore sweaters in the summer.  She was snapping string beans and pulling the stringy part off.  She had a towel across her lap, for the strings and the little ends.

I sat down in the double recliner, on the side where the foot rest worked.  The room was sort of dark and it was warm, and the dog would sigh every once in awhile, and the string beans were snapping.  When I woke up, all the fast, quick, boom, bang in my brain had slowed down.  “Are you sure you don’t want something eat?”

I put my hands behind my head, and stretched all the way back.  I smiled the kind that slowly goes across your face and stays for a while.

“I’m getting so old.  Last night I dreamed that Apostolos spoke to me.  It was something he said many years ago, but I remember t like it was yesterday, but I can’t remember what happened yesterday.”

“What did he say to you Yiayia?”

“He said I should have won the gold coin from the dance contest.  “What contest?”

“The Ahepa had a Greek dancing contest.  There were many girls, some from Greece, and some Greek girls who were born in America, we would dance.  Our cloths were old, but they were clean and ironed!”

“From all the girls, there were two of us that were the very best.  The winner was to have a gold coin.  I remember the coin was so bright!  The other girl was born in America and she was picked because it is more difficult for a girl born in America to be a good Greek dancer.”

It was quiet for a while, and then she put her half closed hand close to her mouth and with her index finger over her lips.  “I should have won the coin” she said sheepishly.  And then she said, “Don’t tell anyone I said such a thing.”

“Yiayia that was 65 years ago!  Who am I going to tell?”  We started laughing at the same time.  She laughed like a little girl and we had tears in our eyes.  Midnite was thumping the floor non stop.

 I felt so lucky to have Yiayia that could make the world slow down.  This little dark room was so full of beautiful feelings.  “Besides, Papou said you should have won, too.”

Mrs. Nellos came around the corner before we hand a chance to hide.  She is Yiayia’s best friend.  She drives a 30 year old Oldsmobile that has couple hundred pounds of chrome hanging off the front.  Mrs. Nellos is one of the ten worst drivers in the United States, maybe in the world.

You’re probably wondering why a bunch of ten year old boys would want to hide from a nice 60 year old lady.  Even though she is a terrible driver, she wouldn’t run us over.  At least not on purpose anyway.  We’d been playing football in the street and she had us cold.  She was going to do the thing all Greek boys feared the most.  She was going to pinch our cheeks!

I've never been able to figure this out.  She slowly got out of her car all crooked as if every bone in her body ached.  It was a little harder to get out of the car because she had parked with one tire on the curb.  “You’re not supposed to play in the street boys.” She said as she looked for her first victim.

She spotted my little brother Keith and she slowly walked over to him, slightly stooped over they way old ladies walk.  Keith was like all little brothers; a big pain in the butt.  The little brat tried to talk his way out of it.  “I think I’ll go tell Yiayia that Mrs. Nellos is here.”  But before he could run for it, she trapped him up against the 30 year old Oldsmobile.  She patted his head and said “My how tall you’ve grown!”  Then she reached down and pinched both of his cheeks.  This 60 year old lady, who walked very slowly like her bones hurt, lifted my brother clear off the pavement.  Like a weightlifter, she held him up, swaying just a little while the judges verified the results.  She put him down and then she did the same thing to the rest of us.  This was before the senior Olympics but I know she would have easily won the clean and jerk competition in her age division.

She and my grandmother are like saints.  They fast all the time and no one ever swears around them.  Even the priests are scared of them.  So while they were inside our house, we used to think of ridiculous places they might be going.

“I bet their going to get a few beers and then cruise down Central Avenue.”  This always got a bunch of laughs.  Once a friend of mine made the mistake of suggesting they might be out for guys.  Sacrilege!  We all gave him a dirty look.

When they came out, we would stand in the street and watch the car weave from one side of the street to the other.  The two ladies would be deep in conversation oblivious to normal drivers forced to screech to a halt as they rolled stop signs, stoplights, etc.

 I used to worry about them getting into a wreck but I figured they’re like saints, what could go wrong?