Take off your shoes and enjoy a good book.

My paternal Grandmother, Tatjana, and I sit down in the living room to read. Tatjana is reading a library book. Tatjana reads English easily; her favorite books were Robert K. Massie's 1967 biography, Nicholas and Alexandra, and Boris Pasternak's Doctor Zhivago. I can't tell what she is reading here.

I, too, am reading a library book. I don't look any more thrilled with the activity than I did in the past. I'm looking through another girlie book about horses. This book is about harness racing. That’s appropriate because our home was a few blocks away from Maywood Park Race Track. On summer nights, I could hear the announcer calling the races through the open window of my bedroom.

We sit in the corner of the living room, near the bay window. This was Tatjana's favorite spot. She's wearing, as she often did, a housecoat. She's taken off her glasses, and they rest on the coffee table. There's a plate with a knife on the table; Tatjana probably just finished eating a piece of fruit. There's also a copy of the Lithuanian-language daily newspaper, Draugas ("Friend"). Draugas didn't arrive "daily;" usually, it ran a bit late, and we'd get several editions in the Saturday afternoon mail.

The chairs are covered with throws so that our daily use wouldn't dirty the upholstery. There's also a throw rug under our feet. I suppose Tatjana and Mom thought that would diminish wear-and-tear on the new wall-to-wall carpeting; they probably didn't realize that the backing of the throw rug itself caused more harm than our feet.

Suburban Chicago, Winter 1967. The swish glass ashtray is a piece my Parents bought during our vacation that previous summer in Colorado.