Sacapuntas

My mother's mother was the quintessential grandmother. She was a sweet woman who never swore, doted on all her grandchildren, took letter-writing very seriously and hostessing even more seriously. (She wasn't the sort to follow you around with an ashtray — that would be intrusive. But when we had grapefruit at the breakfast table, she would get up early to loosen all the segments in her guests' fruit.) She was born in Iowa in 1909. She was religious, but never ostentatious about it. She was what you picture when you picture a grandmother, and I don't think I'm biased here.

So I was really surprised to find this kicky little number among her things.

Excuse me for a second; this wig is all wrong. Yes, the spiraling black curls echo the pencil-sharpening-curlicues of the print...

Earthly Delights

When I was doing my undergrad study abroad program in France, we were encouraged to take classes within the Parisian university system. This was at first thrilling (real classes! with real French people!), then terrifying (I once snapped out of a daydream when I heard the professor say, "Well, let's ask the American. Are they?" I said, "Excuse me?" He elaborated, "Are executions public in the United States?"), then, oddly, a sign of just how much we were being coddled (our French grades were translated, and by that I mean inflated, into their American equivalents).

Funny how the same facial expression can convey excitement, horrified amusement and disbelief at how determined private colleges are to give everyone A's.