I remember my grandmother Hildegard—tall, slim-framed, her cardigan and shoes sensible but not quite grandmotherly. She was too stylish for that—wallabies, we called those shoes in the 1970s. In a modernist armchair in her study, listening to NPR, she puffed on a pipe—a pipe! My mother’s mother, Hildegard was elegant, German, unadorned, restrained. She had a wide face, high cheekbones, and a gently aquiline nose. I do not remember her embracing me ever; I don’t remember...