Grandmotherly love

My paternal grandmother was a pretty classic Jewish nana – she made rugelach and mandel bread to die for, knitted and crocheted up a storm; here’s the classic afghan she made for me before I went off to Brown:

Here she is, in the 30s, because I don’t have any photos of her with her cats’-eye glasses and her bouffant hair (or wig).  What a babe:

So for me the word Nana evokes love, comfort food, and the incessant noodging to get my hair out of my face.  I suspect there are a lot of others who get the same warm and fuzzy feelings from the word.

So why would you name your opening glass wall business “NanaWall”?  

Their website doesn’t pay tribute to a beloved grandmother (and commits numerous acts of genericide, I might add), nor does it contain any other explanation for the name, which, while concededly not descriptive, leaves me scratching my head.  No, not even a lifetime passion for the Darling family’s beloved dog would seem to be a logical explanation.  

Am I missing something? Oh well, since the NanaWall market appears primarily commercial, it’s nothing I need to worry about for my own purposes.  So that leaves me to muse upon what my own NanaWall would be: shelves of rugelach and mandel bread, piles of multicolored afghans and sweaters – and a rack of beautiful vests just like the one worn by yours truly in this photo:

In short, my NanaWall is a wall of grandmotherly love.