<<< back to student roster
JEANETTE SHELBURNE
My stories:
A VISIT TO GRANDMA FRIEDA'S HOUSE
THE ADVENTURES OF GRANDMA FRIEDA
Previous to teaching Life Story Writing, I spent many years as a professional writer of TV, feature films and interactive mutimedia programs and became a member of the Writers Guild of America. In earlier years, I taught Dance and Yoga at Harvard-Westlake School before becoming a mother of two. Teaching now for Fairfax-Hamilton Community Adult School is especially nostalgic for me, because I lived in this neighborhood from ages 2-7, formative childhood years. West Hollywood in the Fifties was a very sweet, secure family neighborhood and I have many happy memories.
<<< back to top
In 1954, Grandma Frieda lived a block away from Fairfax Avenue and the Farmers Market.
A VISIT TO GRANDMA FRIEDA'S HOUSE
"I want to hear that you've been good girls," says Mom, as Gilda and I climb the all steps, all the way up to Grandma Frieda's apartment. I try not to run up the stairs, or stamp on the white cement steps, which make a fun echo. It's dark at the top of the stairs. It smells funny, like the sidewalk when it rains. We don't have stairs at our house. This is fun.
There's Grandma's door! Gilda and I both knock and knock and knock. As soon as Grandma Frieda opens the door, we push each other to get inside first and run to the closet where we know the toys are. But we always have to wait for Grandma to get them out for us. "Say hello to Grandma first," says Mom. "That's okay." Grandma Frieda laughs. "That's the way kids are." She opens the closet and takes out the huge brown sack of toys, and puts it on the floor. Gilda and I fight over the toys; I grab the red ball and climb on the couch.
"Jeanette!" yells Mom, "Don't stand on the furniture with your shoes on!"
Grandma Frieda says, "Don't worry, Rima, I covered everything with plastic, so they can't get anything dirty." Gilda's playing with the blocks. We have better toys at home, but these are special because we can ONLY play with them at Grandma's house. I asked her once if I could take one home and she said, "No, they belong to all my grandchildren." I hope my cousins don't come over today. Mom says good-bye but I hardly notice. I wonder when Gilda will put the blocks down so I can grab them.
After we play awhile, Grandma Frieda says we're going for a ride in her car. We run to the door. Grandma says good-bye to Butch, the bow-wow. Grandma's always carrying Butch around and kissing him and talking to him. "Why is Butch so short and long, like a big hot dog?" I ask. "He's a special German dog, called a dachshund."
I kiss Butch too. "Be gentle," says Grandma. "Butch is very old." I pet his head softly. Butch looks at me. He's so little, but he has big brown eyes. He looks really sweet and sad! I love him a lot. We all say good-bye to Butch and then walk to the garage.
There's Grandma's blue and white car! It's so shiny with big silver fins! We get inside. It's new and smells wonderful. Grandma says it stays that way because she doesn't drive it very much. There's plastic all over the seats, but I can still see the shiny blue and white color underneath.
I sit next to Grandma and her big handbag. I wish I had a handbag like that! The front is plastic, and underneath the plastic is a real Chinese doll with an umbrella.
Wow! Grandma backs up really slowly. She keeps stopping the car and looking over her shoulder. She looks really worried. She backs up a teeny little bit at a time. It's taking a really long time to get out of the garage. Now, she looks behind her at the street. A car is coming! She stops the car really hard. The car in the street passes. Whew! She backs up some more. This is taking longer than forever! Finally we're in the street. Grandma drives slowly around the block. At each corner, she looks back and forth for a long time. Then she drives back into the garage. "That's enough for today!" says Grandma.
"Let's have lunch now!" Yea! I think. When we get back inside her apartment, I run and grab the blocks! Gilda gives me a mean look, but reads some books.
Finally, Grandma says lunch is ready. We wash our hands and sit at her kitchen table. Grandma brings us some big yummy hot dogs! She says they're German and called knockwurst. I love Grandma's food.
Butch is under the table, staring at me. I give him a piece of meat. Now he stares at Gilda. She gives Butch a piece too. "Don't feed Butch!" warns Grandma. "He's old and can only eat special food." "But Grandma, he wants my food, see?" Butch is staring at me again. "If you feed Butch, he'll die! You don't want him to die, do you?" No, I don't want Butch to die. I try not to look at him. I eat some more. I look under the table. He's looking at me. I don't want to kill Butch, I love Butch. I wish he would go away, from under the table. He never barks, or puts his paw on me but I know he's still there. I peek down. There he is,staring at me with his big sad dark eyes, like he could wait there forever. I think he will. He's so sad.
Grandma washes dishes in the sink. Gilda and I look at each other. We each give Butch a little piece of meat. I really hope he won't die!
P.S. Naturally, when Butch finally died, a few years later, Gilda and I thought it was all our fault. How's that for our first big dose of Jewish guilt?
<<< back to top
Now that I'm six, I get to go with Grandma Frieda to her little temple near Fairfax. There are lots of funny old people who smile at me, and pat my head, and pinch my cheeks. "Oh, Sheyne Medel!" they say, which Mom told me means "pretty." They look at me and my big sister Gilda like we're precious treasures. Then they sigh and clap their hands, "Oh, such grandchildren! Oh, such a mitzvah!" I like them.
The men have big tummies and dark jackets that smell different-like old wood and old books. The ladies have lots of wrinkles and lipstick and they wear hats with feathers and dresses with shiny buttons and soft gloves. Each lady smells like a different flower.
Mom calls Grandma Frieda a "Big Macher" which she says means, a big somebody. Grandma's the head of the Sisterhood. She's always talking and laughing and everyone likes her.
My favorite part about Grandma Frieda's temple is Rabbi Sonderling because he has a long, long white beard. It's SO long and it's curly too! I've never seen anyone else who looks like him. He wears a black coat and a hat and has a funny way of talking. Mom and Daddy say he's very wise. They talk to him with quiet voices, and they act like they're a little afraid.
I'm not afraid of Rabbi Sonderling. He smiles at kids and jokes and lets us sit in his lap. I especially like it when he kisses me on the cheek because I get to look closer at his long white beard. It's curly and a little tickley!
While Grandma Frieda and Grandpa Sam are in the grown-up services, Gilda and I go to a class for kids, where they give us grape juice and bread and we learn to say prayers. "Blessed be Thou, O Lord, our God, King of the Universe, who hast created the fruit of the vine." I especially like the grape juice. It tastes sweet and sour at the same time, and tickles my nose. "Let's practice The Four Questions for Passover," says the teacher. "First question: Why is this night different from all other nights?" We all start singing, "Ma-nish-ta-nah ha-leila ha-zeh, mi-kol-ha-leh-lot?" We do this every week.
There are lots of verses to remember. "Ha- li-lah ha-zeh, ha-li-lah ha-zeh mi-chol, ha-ah mim " I look out the window as we sing. I look around the room at all the pictures on the wall. "Jeanette! Stop dreaming!" yells my teacher. "Passover is only a week away and the youngest person at the table is supposed to sing the four questions. That might be you!"
My big sister, Gilda is giving me a mean look. Gilda always pays attention. She's better than me at everything. I try hard to pay attention but it's still more interesting to look around than look at the teacher. For the rest of the week, Mom keeps asking me, "Do you remember the words?" She keeps making me practice, but I don't want to. Daddy says not to worry. "Just sing what you remember." He reminds Mom I'm only six and Gilda can sing the rest.
At the end of the week it's Passover and we all go to Grandma Frieda's temple. The little wood room is filled with big tables. Everyone sits down and Rabbi Sonderling leads the service. Finally he says, "It's time for the children to ask The Four Questions. Who's the youngest child here, to start?" Grandma Frieda points to me. "Jeanette, would you ask the first question?" Rabbi Sonderling asks me.
Mom looks really nervous! I stand up. Everyone looks at me. It's quiet. But a few people are still making a little noise. I start to sing, "Ma nish ta nah nah ha li-lah ha zeh..." I sing really slowly and carefully. As I sing, all I see is the light shining off the wood walls. I donšt see anyone looking at me anymore. I keep singing slowly and carefully. I can't stop. "Sheb-ah-chol ha leh-lot, anu och-lim, ha mitzu-matzah..."
I feel like I'm in a magical bubble. I can remember every word and every melody. Around me it gets quieter and quieter. The air feels really still and I'm captured here. I just see light. I could go on forever. I finish singing the fourth question and stop. I feel strange. I don't move. No one says anything. I'm still in the bubble. It's light. I can't move.
"Does any other child want to follow THAT?" I hear Rabbi Sonderling finally say. I hear people laughing. I look around me. Everyone's looking at me. I feel embarrassed and strange, but I know I sang it perfectly! Everyone has bright faces and big smiles. No other kid gets up to sing. Everyone laughs again.
Daddy hugs me, Grandma Frieda kisses me, Grandpa Sam pinches my cheek. He has tears in his eyes, which is strange because he's always so quiet I hardly notice him. Mom hugs me. I hear them saying, "What a performer!" "Look, nobody could follow you!" "And we thought Gilda was the actress!"
Later, Daddy keeps saying over and over how Rabbi Sonderling told him he'd never heard such a young child sing The Four Questions as perfectly. I feel proud, although a little strange and embarrassed.
But the best, best part is that my big sister, Gilda is totally silent! For once, I did something better than her!
P.S. Now, as an adult, perhaps I understand what my parents and the "funny old people" at Grandma Frieda's temple felt as I bravely navigated all The Four Questions. When a child leads a prayer, I notice how we adults become so silent, quieter and quieter until we are hardly breathing, as if the slightest breath might break this delicate miracle: In a world where it is so dangerous to be a Jew, a child is standing up and leading us all in a voice full of immaturity and innocence! At those moments it feels like we're in a magic bubble filled with light, where the love of our families, from all time, can live forever.
<<< back to top
THE ADVENTURES OF GRANDMA FRIEDA
"How was school today?" Mom asks my sister, Gilda. "Leave me alone," mumbles Gilda, heading for her room. Every day Gilda sleeps off the horrors of high school until dinnertime. Then she stays up until 2 or 3 am reading.
"I used to feel ugly and shy too, just like Gilda when I was her age," says Mom. I wish I knew how to help you girls to be confident."
Gilda's 14 and I'm 11. I'm not having as bad a time as she is, but I'm terrible at sports so none of the popular girls like me.
Every day I have to face being picked last on teams.
Mom says, "There's no reason for you girls to be shy - you're pretty and sweet and smart, knock on wood it shouldn't hear me." Mom knocks on the wood divider above the breakfast counter. I stare at the knots of wood. Mom always knocks on wood and says, "Knock on wood it shouldn't hear me," whenever she mentions something good. Is there really some kind of bad luck spirit watching everything she says? Something to do with wood and trees?
I think of the trees in Hungary and Russia where Mom's family is from. I get a feeling of nervousness, like something bad is gonna happen whenever anything goes well. Mom is always worrying about everything. Mom says, "I wish your Grandma Frieda was still alive. She'd know how to help you girls have confidence. After I moved out to California with your dad I got really close with her. She was like a breath of fresh air, after the way I grew up. She used to tease me that I grew up in a Jewish nunnery," laughs Mom.
"Frieda told me she had a wonderful time as a teenager living in Germany. That was in the 1920's, before Hitler came to power. Back then, the Jews in Germany were very patriotic. They thought Germany was the center of the world. Grandma Frieda's family was wealthy and they lived in Kassel, in the north of Germany. It's really beautiful there forests and lakes and castles.
Frieda said that in the summer there were many fancy balls. A lot of German officers were stationed nearby and she and her sisters danced and flirted with them all summer," says Mom. I've seen old pictures of Grandma Frieda and her sisters in Germany, obviously taken by professional photographers.
Bette, leaning over a vase of flowers with a sweet, crooked smile, a close up of Emma with a strange dreamy look in her eyes, holding a cat to her cheek. Then there are the dress-up pictures, satin gowns, and furs, posed like movie stars. They always look so intelligent, fun loving and graceful. Like they're walking on air.
My dad has that attitude too. Like -- "I'm so gorgeous, I'm so cool, I don't need to advertise it." He reminds me of Perry Como and Dean Martin.
Mom goes on," Then, one year, Frieda's American cousin, Michael came to visit. He was touring Europe as part of a Vaudeville company. Michael was a trapeze artist and also did a comedy routine. The whole Eichwald family came to see Michael perform one night.
Can you imagine how different and exciting he must have seemed to Frieda? She had been brought up in a formal European family. Her father, Max was one of those strict, Germanic fathers who you don't say no to. Frieda's life had always been sheltered.
So here was this gorgeous, daring acrobat from America living a free, adventurous life. She fell in love immediately. Michael was also smitten with his beautiful, classy European cousin. And I'll bet the fact that she was a sheltered and innocent cousin-from-the-Old Country appealed to him too.
Even though Michael had grown up in America, deep down, he still had that authoritarian German male attitude. Your father's the same way." I know what Mom means. Daddy's usually nice, but sometimes he can be really scary. No one dares argue when he's like that.
Mom goes on, "Well, they got married immediately and she went back to America with him. It must have been so hard for her leaving her family and setting off for a new country. She didn't even speak a word of English!
But Frieda made friends with everyone in the Vaudeville company and got them to help her learn English. She learned really fast. That's how your Grandma was!" "And she loved her new life. They traveled all over the U.S. Frieda took pictures of all the places they performed. But that wasn't enough for Frieda.
Soon she wanted to be in the show too. But Michael suddenly turned into the Germanic husband, "No wife of mine is going to wear tights and show her legs like that for the public!" She begged and reasoned and sweet-talked him, but he wouldn't budge.
Grandma wasn't one to give up. She got Michael's acrobatic partner on her side. And for a whole year, in secret, he trained her to perform on the flying rings. Can you imagine how hard that must have been to pull off without Michael knowing? But she did it.
Then, one night, during a performance, Michael got ready to swing over to his partner, and instead, there was your Grandma Frieda! He must have been really shocked, but what could he do? The audience was there -- the show must go on! He had to let her catch him and she did it perfectly. They completed the whole act together and the audience loved it.
I'll bet he was furious at having been tricked, but he must have also been impressed by her chutzpah and her ability. Plus, probably everyone in the company was on her side. So Grandma got her way and joined the act. She and Michael performed together for many years.
"Isn't that amazing?" says Mom. It is amazing, I think. I remember Grandma Frieda, winking and laughing and playing practical jokes and always getting her way. And everyone loved her too. She died last year and I really miss her. Mom says, "I just wish she was still alive and could help you girls be confident. She knew how." I wish I knew how, too I think.
I could never imagine being a trapeze artist. I used to love climbing the jungle gym when I was a little kid, and Mom said I climbed up on the roof when I was two, but I'd be too afraid to do that now. When we play volleyball at school, I always worry the ball is going to hit me. I guess I take after my mother.
<<< back to top
