I look at my little girl and I see my grandma in her. My mom's mother. Since Alisia is born, I think about grandma almost every day. It's not that Alisia looks like her, but there is something very similar between children and older people.

My grandma was known to be a hooligan. When she was a teenager, she liked to dress up as a man, date with girls and kiss them in the dark. She always had a music instrument with her and was a center of entertainment, singing Russian folk songs and getting the crowds to sing with her. No one could beat her playing cards, she knew a way to win. She did not have a degree, only middle school, afterwards she had to work as she was the eldest sibling and their family was poor. She was strong and always worked in jobs where she could move heavy stuff. She resolved things physically too. When she married, she also physically fought with her husband, she physically defended her children at school if teachers screwed up. Lots of fire. 🔥🔥🔥Yet, people said she was fair and deeply religious. However, once her husband flew out of the window and when he eventually returned home, he asked her: "Nina, please be a woman!" Soon after, her husband left this world and she raised kids as a single mom of 4.

My grandma loved me, I could feel it. I got to know her in her late 50's. She told me religious stories, about God and about Devil. She always made a cross when going to bed first in front of herself and then in front of me. She asked me to never share it with anyone as we lived in the Soviet time where religion officially was not allowed. Communist party did not allow any competition. She taught me to play cards - this is how we spent evenings, sitting on a window and playing for hours, while she would share countless stories from her life.

I loved playing matryoshka's from her cupboard. She had a collection of them. They all had a particular smell of wood mixed with paint.
I loved her cooking. It was simple and very tasty at the same time.
I loved spending time with her at work - she was selling newspapers in a very small kiosk-shop.
I loved hearing her songs even though her voice cracked with the time.
I loved travelling with her, she would always get me things I wanted.

She died from dementia many many years ago, because she spent many years of her life working for chemical industry with high content of lead. I remember her in her power and her becoming like a child in her last two years of life, completely dependent on others. She did not even recognize us any more. It was not her anymore, just a decaying body, her spirit was already gone.

I love you, grandma, and I am so happy that I can honor you being reminded by my daughter now.