My Grandmere And Poppy.

My father's parents are two of the most amazing people I have ever had the privilege of encountering.

My Grandmere is a very petite French woman who refuses to be in public without her very very high heels. She is normally seen with a Sonia Rykiel top and black pants, and of course her very very high, very very French heels. Until very recently, she was always fully made up with emerald green eyeshadow, lipstick and blush (in her words, rouge). Her hair, before she stopped paying as much attention to it, was always a ridiculous shade of dark burgundy. As I've made pretty clear so far, she is very French. Interestingly enough, however, she was born and raised in Marrakech, Morocco. But she'd never let you know it. As far as anyone outside of the family knows, she's from Lyon. It sounds pretty weird, but it's one of the reasons I love my Grandmere. She turns her nose up at anything that is too American or Eastern European (including my Poppy's family's religious customs). She is also extremely loving, and will constantly tell me in Arabic that she would die for me.

My Poppy is very American, comparatively. He hails from Braddock, Pennsylvania, and refers to DC as "Warshington." In his working days, he was a professor of Anthropology at various universities on the East Coast. He has an almost full head of white hair, which is finally thinning after 89 years of life. He is incredibly smart and well-spoken. Sometimes he says things that probably shouldn't be said, but this is mostly due to the whole losing-one's-inhibitions-as-one-ages thing. He is pretty pessimistic by nature, but is in constant praise of me and his other granddaughters.

My Grandmere and Poppy met while Poppy was serving in World War II. Grandmere was a nurse. Poppy walked into her dressing room while she was getting ready for the Red Cross dance they were both attending. Poppy took her back to America, and they got married. Strangely enough, Grandmere didn't know Poppy's real name was Milton until very close to, if not on, their wedding day. Poppy always went by Jack, which was a shortening of his last name, Jacobs. Sixty-odd years later, they're still crazy in love.

My Grandmere and Poppy bicker all the time, especially since he's been in rehabilitation after one too many falls. She doesn't understand how hard it is for him to try to get better. She thinks she can take care of him herself, but it's an impossible task for one person. Even through all the conflict, my Grandmere and Poppy love each other very, very much.

And we love them, too.