First Day in Pascani

I took grandma by surprise with my arrival. I had told her that I'd arrive the next day. But I showed up at about 3pm at her door. I rang the bell. No answer. I rang the second bell (she has two bells). No answer. There were two possible scenarios: either she was away, either she wouldn't answer.
She was at home. But since she wasn't expecting any guests, she wouldn't open. After ringing the bells a few times, I put my year by the door to see if she was home or not. Complete silence. I guess she was doing the same thing. After ringing a few more times I gave up and let her know who it was. She opened right away.
The first thing she told me was that she couldn't recognize my face due to my beard.
It is very difficult to find Bunata off guard. Due to her professional background, she is always ready and prepared for anything. I have tried, in the past, to gather genuine information from her. About her past, about the communist era, about people... Not once has she removed that patriotic mask. It has always created a sort of distance between us.
That day though, things seemed a bit different. It wasn't much, but it meant a lot to me:
On the stove, there was a cup of milk covered with a tin cap. Saved for later.
On the table there were two different coffee plates. One of them was filled with half a tomato, two slices of red pepper, one small piece of marinated fish, and one cooked mushroom. On the second plate there were two sarmale. She had probably just finished cooking them. The air was hot and humid and the windows were steamy. It was warm and it smelled really good. Her plates were all set up in the corner of the table, as if the rest of the table was reserved for someone else.
Although she's very energetic, there has always been a sense of peacefulness and silence in her household. I felt it more this time, the moment I entered her apartment.
As always, first things first: I was served food. As always, more than needed.
"Take another stuffed cabbage! Please! Take two! Please! You have to take an even number for good luck!" I take two. "Take four!" She laughs disappointed.
Later in the evening, I looked at old photographs of my family. I found the same photographs I always look at when I visit. Always hoping to discover something new. That day, I did. Or, I might have seen it in the past but had not paid attention to it. It struck me this time:
*drawing made by my sister. Flowers, house, bird, sun. On the back, the following message:
"My dearest Bunatica [granny], I miss you very much. I'd need your help. Dad and mom are fighting again. I am really sad. Dear granny, I made this drawing for you because Sunday is Martisor [holiday]. I dedicate this letter to you. All the best,
Ioana."
She was less than seven when she wrote this. My parents probably did not notice the message when they sent the letter to grandma.
I was also young when I wrote the following message:
"Mom, I thank you for giving birth to me. I'll be a good boy. Cheers to all! Bogdan"