One of my earliest memories of my grandma was when I was getting picked up from school in Kindergarten. My grandma and grandpa were in town and my mom was at work so on a Tuesday or something, they were on carpool duty. I will never forget getting in the car, buckling up in my carseat, and watching my grandparents argue over which was the right way to get home. Concerned, and looking for a mediator, my grandma turned around and asked 5-year-old me which was the right way. I said, “I don’t know.” I don’t remember how I got home that day but I am alive now, 24 years old, so I must have gotten there somehow.
Renee Kaye Sklar was raised in a house on Bergen Street. I go to Bergen Street now to get bagels. She was the epitome of a Brooklyn woman- opinionated, stubborn, sharp-witted, and strong. When she was in a room you stood up straighter. She was a Principal, after all. She drank her coffee scalding hot and she traveled to all 7 continents. She talked to me like an adult even when I wasn’t and she spoke her mind without hesitation.
When I was little and couldn’t reach the counter I pulled up a stool to stand next to her and learn to make oven fried chicken. You put the chicken in a brown paper bag of seasoned flour, shake it up, then egg wash, then breadcrumbs. She taught me the importance of having a wet and dry hand when cooking. She taught me that sometimes the simplest recipes, when well executed, are best.
Grandma was low maintenance. A concept unfamiliar to me. She would eat anything, go anywhere, and she multi-purposed her lipstick into blush. My grandma and grandpa were a practical, resourceful couple. Nothing was too precious. If I even so much as touched a book, piece of jewelry, picture frame, or trinket in their house she urged me to take it. For a woman with a house full of stuff, she was the least materialistic person I knew. She loved fiercely and she lived confidently.
Grief is a tricky thing. Even when you can see it coming, it still hurts when it strikes. In recent years my grandma started losing her memory. It was hard to watch it happen but the importance of family is carrying memories on behalf of others. I will never forget all of her life lessons, travel stories, and recipe tips for frying chicken. I will never forget her patience, endurance, care, and love. Her memory lives on in our minds, and what an honor that is.
Beautiful piece Rachy❤️
She would be so proud to read that.