grandparents
Becoming a grandparent makes getting older something to look forward to - all the fun of parenting, without the hassle.
Grandma's House
She stepped into the house for the first time since her grandmother had passed. She breathed in the familiar scent: mothballs with a hint of those peppermint LifeSavers her grandmother couldn’t be caught without. She had been in this house countless times over the years, but she realized she always took the same path: through the side door, across the kitchen, and into the living room where she sat on the couch and read the Ten Commandments out loud, while her grandmother sat nodding along in her chair. This house, built in the late 1800s, was full of relics she had never stopped to appreciate. Now, taking stock of the things around her, she was sure her grandmother would have had captivating stories to tell about why she had so many pig figurines, or who the people were in the painting done by her grandfather that hung in the dining room. She walked around room to room, surveying each one’s contents, and figuring out where to start clearing out first. She paused at the door to the basement, giving it a hard tug—the wood often swelled in the humidity and was difficult to open. Making her way down the steps, she remembered the story her dad used to tell her about the Boogey Man who lived in the crawl space down there. She was older now, and she knew there was no Boogey Man, which was why she laughed to herself when she felt a nostalgic twinge of fear as she passed the crawlspace door. She waved her arm in the air, searching for the string that would illuminate the one dim bulb that hung in the center of the room. She wasn’t afraid of the dark, but she also didn’t like being in the 200-year-old basement of her dead grandmother without any light. Finally, her fingers closed around the frayed end. She let out a shriek as the dusty bulb flickered on and shed light on a skeleton propped up on the old workbench next to her. She bent over with her hands on her knees and let her heavy breathing morph into a laugh as she recalled the haunted house they had set up down there for the neighborhood the previous year. She made a mental note to make sure she got rid of it—the realtor probably wouldn’t find it as funny.
By Chris Walden 6 years ago in Families
Memories In The Room
Stepping from her car, into the early morning, Ronnie took a deep breath as if she could inhale courage from the rising haze. How long has it been since she saw this house? Since she was in this gravel driveway that dispassionately delivered skinned knees on a regular basis? A memory came to her, something Mammah would say when she could tell Ronnie was waffling on a decision or task. There she was- standing in the kitchen at the counter between the stove and sink, somehow already knowing that Ronnie was there.
By M. Bornhoffer6 years ago in Families
Victory
When I was little, my Nana would tell me stories about the Greek Goddess Athena and her owl. Little me was fascinated at the idea of a woman, a warrior born from the head of Zeus, who would keep company with an owl. Imagine having a creature who could fly into the heavens and come back with all the knowledge you needed for victory. I didn’t really believe that the owl had an inner light, I assumed the Greeks just didn’t know about night vision.
By Jenn O'neil6 years ago in Families
My Indigenous Great Grandmother
My father, Pedro Baca y Griego, didn’t talk much about his parents. I don’t think it was because he didn’t love them or think of them but because he had to focus too much on the present. He had to be in order to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table for a family of thirteen. Every day was a work day for him. Nothing was easy for a man with little education. Only his skills that required a man with an attitude of “I can do anything that requires a strong back and a fierce work ethic.”
By Chris Baca6 years ago in Families
Just My Luck
JUST MY LUCK Ever since Nan died my girlfriend and I visited my Granddad every Wednesday evening and took him down the local pub. This was mainly to get him out of the house and have some social contact to help keep his spirits up. He had lived in the village all his life and was quite a character, everyone would say hello when we walked into the pub. The village pub was a thatched white washed timber framed building called The Royal Oak. It had an L shaped floor plan with the toilets and pub games section in the small straight section and the bar and main seating area in the other longer straight section. The wooden furniture was stained a dark brown and there were some church pew type seats strategically placed in the nooks and crannies to make the most of the space. There were three bar stools along a short and cramped bar that had the usual set of brass taps, a couple of other pumps and one of those soft drink dispensing hose, the sort that spouted mixed syrups and carbonated water when you pressed the button, like a soda stream. On every chair was a cushion covered in red velvet material that you could write rude messages on if you used your finger to brush against the direction the fabric was going in.
By Jamie Irons6 years ago in Families
