Thursday, November 28, 2013
Ever since I was a little girl I remember going to grandma's house every Sunday afternoon. Grandma always met us at the door, welcoming us by saying "Come in the house", but not before giving us a hug. We would then make our way back to the living room and sit and talk about this and that, that and this. Of course, it didn't take long for me to get antsy. I would go over to the bookshelf and entertain myself with her collection of books or look at the many photographs scattered about the room. Once in a while I would interrupt their conversation and ask "Who's this?" or "How old was I when that photo was taken?"
Other times I would wander around outside. I was always trying to make friends with the stray cats that made their home in the big barn. Sometimes I would sit on the back step and just look across the great field. At the time it seemed so large that I always wondered what was on the other side. I would also sit on the front step and watch the cows that grazed in the field across the road. Of course, I couldn't help but moo at them. When they mooed back, it made me giggle. Back then I was easily amused. From time to time I would pop back in the house and mom and grandma would still be talking about things that were not as interesting to a little girl.
Then I remember when my Aunt Glenda, Uncle Fred and cousin Lynne moved to town. They started to join us on these Sunday visits. Since my sister Susanne and Lynne were the same age they hung out together. I was still content just doing my own thing. I remember when Grandma used to lay colorful quilts on the grass under the twin cedar trees. Uncle AC and Grandpa and the other adults would sit in lawn chairs and again talk about grown-up things. I would lie on the quilt and listen to the rustle of the grass underneath thinking this really wasn’t a bad way to spend a Sunday afternoon. Other times I would be recruited to shell beans or husk corn. I still remember the muffled ding of the beans dropping into the big metal bowl. Grandma was always growing something in her garden. Watermelon was a big treat each summer, but I have to admit to this day I can't eat it now. I had had too much of a good thing.
Another thing she grew were flowers - yellow pansies, blue hydrangea, purple irises and red begonias. Under her watchful eye these plants bloomed into beautiful flowers. There was that one time when a bed of pansies did not bloom as planned. One evening I had entertained myself by raking her flower bed - she had just planted some seeds and I thought I would help her out by making neat little rows with her trowel. Little did I know I was wreaking havoc on her newly sown flower seeds.
Through the years our Sunday visits were something I could always count on. Regretfully I remember times when I was a teenager I didn't want to go, because I didn't want to miss a favorite television program. To this day I can't even remember the name of that program, but now I realize what was more important.
I just want to thank Grandma for some wonderful and special Sunday memories. I wish I could still visit every Sunday, but it's a long drive from the mountains. Even though I am not there physically, I think about Mom, Aunt Glenda and Lynne coming to your house. Sitting in the living room or kitchen and talking about this and that, that and this.
Friday, May 24, 2013
In our town we have an auto shop where the locals take their cars and where I take our van. It's not a fancy place with a waiting room filled with cushy chairs, a big screen tv and so forth. No, it's about as basic as you can get with vinyl covered furniture, a 1970s-era television and aging stacks of magazines strewn about. That's okay with me. You know what makes this waiting room special? The conversations.
When I know I'm going to be there for a while, I usually bring along a book, magazine, or something else to occupy my time. More than not though, I end up talking to the others in the waiting room or sometimes just listen.
There were several others who came and went, but one older lady really stood out.
She complained some about the cigarette smoke smell in the shop. Normally I’m pretty sensitive to it so and didn't smell anything. We proceeded to chat about the current news, politics (just a touch) and family. She talked about her children - how one was a minister. She then spoke of her daughter. She told me how she had been in the National Honor Society in high school, sang on stage and played the guitar. Then she went on to tell me how it all changed when her husband died in his early 40s. Their daughter started on drugs soon afterwards and has continued apparently to this day. She just moved from street drugs to prescription medicine. And then she mentioned that her husband had died of lung cancer brought on by years of smoking.
And now I understood...
Friday, May 10, 2013
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
Ever since we adopted our two cats from the Blue Ridge Humane Society and have put up our Christmas tree, we surprisingly have never had too much trouble with them trying to climb it or mess with the ornaments. All Dave wants to do is hide underneath and watch the action. Sam doesn’t even go near it. Go figure.