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My maternal grandmother was named Natalie Johnson by her parents, Natalie Spencer by marriage, and Gigi by me. I don’t remember naming her; from my perspective now at eighty the name was probably a spittle spewing grunt, but I was first born and cute so the name stuck. She married Harry Hovey Spencer in 1914 and had my mother, Nancy, in 1918.

Gigi and Bamps lived at 826 President Street, Brooklyn, in a house they built; actually they built two houses next to each other and sold one.

My grandmother’s only child was my mother, Nancy Spencer Hays. My mother never told me why they had only one child. Gigi was not the maternal sort but would not dream of discussing her intentions with her daughter or grandchild.

Each summer we lived with Gigi and Bamps as soon as school let out, and we could drive to Point O’Woods on Fire Island. They moved in early each spring, eager to get out of Brooklyn. Bamps set up a large pot bellied stove on a zinc square in between the dining room and the living room to heat the entire house. The stove exhaust pipe went up to the ceiling suspended by baling wire, then over to a hole in the brick wall, and up through the roof. Once the weather warmed, the entire system would be disassembled and put away until fall arrived.

Gigi’s favorite activity was swimming in the ocean surf, generally at the main beach where the lifeguard could be flagged down if necessary. If the surf was rough, Gigi would corral one of us to accompany her through the surf where she would paddle around happily until we escorted her back to shore. She always wore a bathing cap to protect her curly hair.

Gigi was not interested in cooking. She did plan meals but brought Mary Cimbola, an illiterate Russian emigre who lived with her son in Brooklyn, out to the house each summer. Mary loved her Bible, collecting mushrooms in the woods, making chocolate chip cookies and beach plum jelly, and arguing religion with me.

Gigi kept an ornate Turkish bell at her place at the dining room table; she would ring it to ask Mary to clear one course and bring out another. The noon meal was the large meal of the day, three courses, soup, entree, and desert. We never drank wine. This mid day meal was so large that the adults generally succumbed to naps in the early afternoon. Bamps napped in the large red chair in the living room corner; Gigi napped in her bedroom, and we never saw her.

Probably the most peculiar habit of Gigi’s was her having breakfast in bed: At seven each morning Mary would take a tray with buttered toast, marmalade, and a three minute egg to Gigi’s bed. Sutton recalls enjoying joining her then. 

Steve remembers Gigi puffing on her cigarettes like Gloria Swanson, never inhaling. We all remember her laugh. She was a very cheerful woman. I have to say I took advantage of her good nature. One Thanksgiving I placed a rubber balloon under her plate and led the tube to a squeezable bulb to my chair on the opposite side. Once her plate had been filled with turkey and sides I wrestled with my giggles while making her plate jump each time she looked away from her meal. It took her most of her conversation with my father before she did a double take and discovered my prank. On another occasion I gave her a Christmas present that looked like an oblong white jewelry box. Inside was a rubber snake attached to a rubber band. When the box was opened the snake came out and hovered before her face.

Gigi loved to play cards, Canasta particularly, but insisted that we filthy grandchildren wash our hands before handling her playing cards. She kept her cards and a card table in the small room next to her bathroom that also had stored the board games we took out each rainy day.

At around five o’clock Gigi would prompt Bamps to start making Manhattans, their cocktail of choice. Every evening they sat with their drinks in two Adirondack chairs on a small stoop at the front of the house off the front porch. From this location they could see the sidewalk to wave at passersby and the approach of visitors up the walk and through the garden.

One of their evening rituals during the summer was the slide show of Bamps photography. Subjects would be travels, POW scenes, and birds. Bamps ran the projector and Gigi provided a running commentary of the images. If more than a couple of Manhattans had been consumed, these dialogues could be entertaining for us kids. 

I should also describe our ritual for Christmas, at least the role played by Gigi. My father always erected our Christmas tree on Christmas eve; I never knew why he did this, but I did travel with him on many occasions in our car driving from one tree lot to another lot looking for a suitable tree at the last possible moment. These trees were generally flawed, either with gaps between their branches or dried needles or flat spots from lying on the ground. But they were inexpensive. The tree was placed in its stand as cocktail hour began. First the tree was turned this way and that to hide its flaws against the wall. My grandmother often was the guiding critic. My father graciously followed her directions. Then the decorations came out of their storage boxes. Lights with their complicated electrical wire systems first, then bulbs, then tinsel. With each layer another round of Manhattans were consumed. Some bulbs were inevitably dark, some bulbs were too close and of clashing colors, some tinsel was ungracefully clumped. Gigi never missed a correction. My father continued graciously following her cheerful directions. When the tree was finished Gigi was silent. Possibly she sensed my father’s eroding patience; possibly her naturally cheery disposition was growing weary; probably the Manhattans were finally taking their toll. 

By this point Spencer generally announced that he was going to bed. When asked why, he sheepishly said that he wanted to be surprised in the morning by the full array of presents under the tree. Sutton remembers a pause for the kids’ bedtime just after the lights went on leaving the bulbs and tinsel for Santa to place on the tree. Then our mother had the formidable job after an evening of Manhattan consumption of remembering where she had hidden each child’s gift stash. The rest of the adults began the frantic last minute wrapping tasks. Gigi by this point was peacefully asleep in her wing chair.

Remember when you look at the photos below, this is how my generation thought of Gigi and Bamps: they were old. Bamps was well into retirement in our earliest memories and both lived to be in their nineties.