This is a week of parties for me and free food and all that holiday cheer. I am not a party party girl. I am in general a happy girl who wouldn't mind a party if the right people were there. Not sure what that means. But I am not an office party girl. Today we had an IT group holiday (READ: FREE) lunch at noon. Then, at 2, there is a building party and then at 3:30 is a full company party. Insane. Also, this week, we have a daycare party and a building that we live in party and Jeff's work party. Crazy. Why am I tellin gyou this? In a boring way, I am setting up the following encounter, I suppose.

I broke off from the IT group lunch half way back to work. I needed stamps. And chocolate, but mostly just the stamps. The cloudy sky was perfect for this time of year. I hate hate hate sunny cold. I like my cold to be drab. I stopped to check my teeth in a safe-deposit box bank mirror, making sure I didn't have any remants of Cuban pork in my teeth. I noticed that I had been wearing my sunglasses on my head during the whole holiday lunch. And said couldy sky makes this seem weird to me. I am stunned by my reflection. My face is all Kate Winslet pointy when framed by my handmade orange scarf. At least an inch of brown roots make way for blond and then pink and then darker pink hair. The new purple fruit sliced eraser earrings (buy them at http://www.etsy.com/view_item.php?listing_id=41209) look so nice next to the orange scarf and pink hair. I am so much prettier than I feel, I think. I have gained 6 pounds. I am addicted to food again and I have gained 6 pounds. I whisper this to myself. "You look all Kate Winslet pointy right now... but you have gained 6 pounds!"

I make my way through the glass door marked, "please use the revolving door" and down the escalator to the post office. Full and full and so very full, the lines are long at said post office. I need stamps of all kinds, so quickly look around to figure out which line is the best for this. I choose the automated machine that takes debit cards, knowing it will only be able to give me half of what I need. I am in line behind like 3 thin blonds, all tweedy tweed in their winters and knee high boots. My mind is still on the 6 pounds and the pork in my teeth and I am someone's mom. And that is weird because I am not even thinking about those somebodies at all. Then I hear her. A familiar voice is behind me.

"Hello, little one." It is Lydia. My street grandma. She is in the line to see a teller at the post office. The way she addresses me is strange, yet familiar. As if she is really truly my grandmother and has been saying this to me since I was 3. And this surge wells up inside of me that I just can't describe. Lydia is looking tan like she has just come from a tropical vacation. But I realize this is the first time I have seen her inside under the bright lights of the post office. She has a heavy sweater wrapped around her head, turning the arms into a scarf. I make a mental note of this. She needs a scarf. She has an xmas card in her hand as well as a package slip. She must have a P.O. Box here, I think. Oh my, what if my mail to her has come to the P.O. box and she doesn't have an apartment like I think she does. I always worry about this.

I reach for my wallet as she asks me about the babies. I keep a new wallet sized picture in my wallet just for her. This one is of the girls in their Halloween dragon suits. She is so excited to see it. I give it to her and she says this is the best christmas present. "The emperor has two new dragons," she says. She asks me how old they are now and I say, almost 5 months. "Almost 5 months and here you are running around downtown DC," she says. She always worries that I don't spend enough time with my girls. I tell her they are ok and she seems to believe me.

I reach for her hand and hold it for a long minute. My hands are cold from the cloudy December outside. I say sorry my hands are so cold. She doesn't seem to mind and holds my hand while looking at the picture of my girls. We are holding up the line at the post office, my street grandma and I. We part and I wonder what she got in her package. I wonder what her life is really like. I wonder who else out there loves her as much as I do.

I come back to work and the lobby is full of more strawberries and little chocolate cakes than anyone could ever ever eat. I turn to go back out and find Lydia to share the riches. I even think about bringing her to my work xmas party in a few hours, the one where even spouses aren't invited. I don't, though, because she always refuses things like food and money. She just wants to see pictures of the babies. She just wants to hold my cold hands. She just wants to be my grandma for a minute or two.