When I was a baby, my mother took my sister and me from her home on our Alberta farm to visit Nanny and Pop Pitcher. I spend a lot of time with my grandparents. "Bop" fed me cheese and I grew so fond of him that on the way home to Alberta, I escaped my mother in Toronto to follow a man I thought was Bop.
I also enjoyed sharing the "bapes" that were brought to Nanny in recognition of her invalid status. This is what remains of her fruit basket, the only memento I have of my long-dead grandmother. The wicker sides crumbled away long ago.