This will be a series of posts in which I honor my grandparents, both my blood ones and my love ones. All of my grandparents have departed this life for the next one. This is my way of remembering, honoring, and loving them. This second one is dedicated to my pappy and mamaw C.
We relocated to this area when I was four years old. We moved into a large, older farmhouse that was really two houses in one. They lived on one side and we were on the other, separated by one unlocked door that required only a simple knock and maybe a shout-out in order to step across into the other's home. We lived there until I was sixteen. Those twelve years are full of so many beautiful memories. I grew up there, and though they were not blood related, they did their part as grandparents, helping me on my path to maturity.
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I remember
.....butchering day. We never ventured outside until we knew the killing part was finished. But the rest of the day was busy. And crowded. Long tables of people cutting, and wrapping, and separating piles for everyone to take fresh meat home. Sausage or burger being ground out in the kitchen. Huge, steaming pots being stirred over fires.
.....pappy. On the tractor, working the fields. Watching him shave in the morning. Sitting on the porch, removing his boots. Driving me to my first job. Bringing bananas over and asking us if we would make him some banana bread. With his hat on. And his bib overalls. Sitting at the kitchen table. And the day I heard the news that he had left this world for another one.
.....KISS. I wasn't supposed to be listening to this kind of music, but I would sneak next door to hang out with their grandson. He had a beat up little record player and a few albums and we would listen to them over and over again. It would be years before I told my parents where I was first introduced to hard rock music!
.....mamaw. In the kitchen, cooking. Or watching her soaps. Maybe both at the same time. Her curls. Feeding all the many cats that called the farm home. Bringing us goodies on these heavy, stoneware, brown plates. Her love of her family. Gathering chicken eggs. Her brush set on her bedroom vanity. Visiting in her new home after pappy was gone, knowing that she longed to be with him again.
.....faschnacht day. The entire house was filled with the smell of hot oil and sweetness all that day. I went to school with my mouth watering. I knew that when I returned home a heaping plate of donuts would be waiting. I have never again tasted donuts as good as hers. Never.
.....the pretzel jar. It sat on top of their big, gas stove containing a ready supply of pretzels, warm from the pilot light. Some days, I went over just to eat some and visit awhile. It is my favorite memory. I now own that very jar. I am forever grateful to the "blood" granddaughter who, when noticing that she was bidding against me for it at the auction, willingly allowed me to have it. I cherish owning a piece of their history with me.
.....cows and pigs and chickens. The geese that chased me. Lots of cats. Their dog Prince and our dog King. Swinging on the porch swing. Easter egg hunts. Climbing the walnut tree. The time the field caught on fire. Helping in their huge garden. The egg that was still in the chicken house years after the chickens were all gone. The time I "ran away" from home - I made it the whole way to their kitchen! Sledding down the big hill. Halloween parties in the barn. Learning to drive on the long lane.
.....so many memories of them. And the house. And farm. And living there. And growing up there, from a child to a teen. It's all changed now. The house is still there, but the farm was sold for a development. I still drive my kids by it, and point out where I did this, or that. Every memory I have, they know. I want them to realize how precious people are to us and to love them now while they can. I miss pappy and mamaw. They were a huge part of my life. I can only hope that they know that I love them, miss them, and that they helped mold the person that I am today. Universe, can you relay that message to them?
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