My mother's mother was a teacher in a small Hungarian town.

She made her own soup noodles, small, very thin diamonds, and her Christmas cookies were to die for.

After visiting her, I always felt sick. Her food was delicious, but it was prepared with lard and was very stodgy.

Throughout her life, she reproached her children severely. There was no escape for them.

Both of her daughters committed suicide.

Her son suffered from depression throughout his life. Now he has dementia.

I broke off contact with her when I was still a child.

The photo was taken while I was still in college. I visited her trying to find out what had happened to my mother. But grandmother couldn't tell me anything.

Instead, she showed me her apartment, furnished with antique-style furniture. Everything was expensive and custom-made.

The furniture was important for her, I guess.