Grand Ole Times

Sunday we spent our afternoon with Brent's parents. Just about every other hour all morning, Murph asked when Grandma and Grandpa were going to be here. And with a few minutes before their ETA, he sat by the window and lit up right when they pulled up. Brent's mom brings these windmill cookies for the boys every time. They're Murph's fave. And I could certainly pick them up myself at the store, but that's "her thing". M will remember her bringing those for the rest of his life.

It makes me think of all sorts of favorite things about grandparents. My grandpa would say “Poiple” is Grandma’s favorite color… Brent and his granny's chicken fried steak [which, I found out was not, in fact, fried in bacon drippings - Thank heaven]. But Brent would have me believe other absurd stories about his childhood because I'm gullible enough to call and ask his mom.

Nevertheless, I have such fond memories with my grandparents or even my elderly neighbor, Francis - going next door to eat all of her red-hots... or Kaye Tankevich - where Bunny's middle name came from. She was this tiny Greek lady with a "larger than life" personality - transcending her lot in life to deal with a horribly painful, diseased body - always such a beacon of joy and spunk. We used to pen-pal. And after she died, one afternoon I got a 2"-thick manila envelope from her husband. It was every last letter I'd ever written her. Good Lord, the content. It was incredibly 11-year-oldish.


I recently found this sugar bowl. It wasn't "cheap" as sugar bowls go but it was the only one, and I had to have it because it reminds me of my Grandma's ceramic pie plate with a lid shaped and painted like a cherry pie with a big red cherry knob on top. And while this is a strawberry, it's also tied in to the strawberry percale bed sheets on the bed I would sleep in at her house if my parents were away. I loved those sheets. I would pretend I was Strawberry Shortcake sleeping on them.

And something about GranMary's house - it smells like Tulsa. Fresh and clean and even something about the water there tastes better than anything bottled. We had 4th of July parades on the bikes she kept for us at her house. Mine had a giant pink daisy print on the vinyl banana seat. GranMary's mom, Nana, lived in Oklahoma City. So, we would go over quite a bit when she was alive. You could find me upstairs giving Barbie a ride down the laundry chute to the dark, creepy basement [very "Good Dog Carl"]. Since she lived close, we would pick her up on our way to Tulsa for Christmases - where - Nana would invariably eat far too many Russell Stover's chocolates and then barf all over the guest room duvet. This may be the missing link to my ultra-sensitive gag-reflex. I hadn't thought of that. I have, however, developed an iron stomach against tooth-paste spit. So, that's good.