Grandmother and Pie

Neither of my grandmothers bakes. Instead, one takes me to see paintings of pies. When I visit her in California, we often see the painting that I've made into my avatar, and, when we're apart, she sends me letters on stationary with it printed on the front. Neither of us really understands this painting, but we still look at it. We talk about food and family, and who won last night's dominoes game, but not, of course, the piece of art right in front of us. The conversation swirls on because of the painting but not about it, both in person and on paper, just as I inherited my grandmother's handwriting by explicitly copying it, but also, silently, the idea of what my role in society is.