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My maternal grandmother lives in my memory as two distinct images. Two distinct people, really. 在我的记忆中，我的外祖母有两种不同的形象。实际上是两个截然不同的人。 The first: She’s coming off a plane, and she’s in a pillbox hat, a tailored suit and white gloves. That was how she dressed to fly, back in the days when people actually dressed to fly. We’d meet her at the airport, then drive home in a car suffused with Jungle Gardenia, which wasn’t just her scent. It was her armor and ecosystem, the way she told the world and reassured herself that she was a proper lady. 第一种形象：她走下飞机，头戴圆筒帽，身穿定制套装，手戴白色手套。这就是她乘坐飞机时的着装，当时人们会为了乘坐飞机而打扮一番。我们在机场迎接她，然后开车回家，车上充满了“丛林栀子花”香水的味道，这不只是她的气味。这是她的盔甲与生态系统，她以这种方式向世界宣告，并以此来打消自己的疑虑，相信她是名副其实的淑女。 The second image: She’s on the couch in our TV room. Her blouse has come undone. So have her slacks, which are wrinkled and smudged. She’s spilling out of everything and she’s oblivious, a dazed, haunted look in her eyes. If she’s wearing any Jungle Gardenia, I no longer smell it. 第二种形象：她坐在电视房里的沙发上。上衣敞开着。又皱又脏的宽松裤子也松开了。整个人完全松懈下来，但她没有意识到，她的眼神茫然、迷离。即便她喷了“丛林栀子花”，我也闻不到那种气味了。 | 
