that's just ducky
No matter where we lived it was always exciting when we turned onto Eva Circle and were almost at Grandma and Grandpa's house.
There were always little debbie's treats in the cupboards, stale saltine's in the container marked "coffee" inbetween "sugar" and tea, and hours and hours of rummikub and the card game: golf.
Murder She Wrote marathons, while Grandma crocheted or cross stitched; she would let us stay up for "just one more episode." Endless art with Grandpa's huge selection of colored pencils that he kept in a merry-go-round pencil holder, while he sketched this and that on his huge architect desk.
Piano concerts, from the antique stand up piano with real tusk keys that were all chipped and typically out of tune from years in the basement, as we sat on the antique stool that would go up
Up
Up if you spun it one way and aaaalll the
Way
Down when you went the other way. Our music could be heard all the way to the third floor, to everyone's pleasure, I'm sure.
My favorite though was going to the duck pond. The grandparents would save the heels and any bread that went stale in between visits, so we would have bags to feed the happy-to-see-us ducks.
The whole family went sometimes, but I mostly remember Grandpa taking Leanne and I. He drove a square gold car. It had a leather bag that hung on the window roll for trash. Not all trash, he would tell us, only tissues or straw/candy wrappers. Nothing sticky.
We went so often we told him we could give him directions. So he let us tell him when to turn and which way and when we were dead wrong he's say "Are you sure you want to go that way???" We giggled and it took us a whole lot longer to feed the ducks, but we always made it to the pond eventually.
Such fond memories. Grandparents are wonderful and in my childhood especially, a source of stability. No matter where we moved, both sets of grandparents never moved. We slept in the rooms my parents grew up in. These wonderful homes were covered in the treasure of family history. And even though they have passed and the homes have been sold I am thankful for pictures, and memories like drives to the duck pond....
(Ooo. Fancy-shmancy.
Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone)
There were always little debbie's treats in the cupboards, stale saltine's in the container marked "coffee" inbetween "sugar" and tea, and hours and hours of rummikub and the card game: golf.
Murder She Wrote marathons, while Grandma crocheted or cross stitched; she would let us stay up for "just one more episode." Endless art with Grandpa's huge selection of colored pencils that he kept in a merry-go-round pencil holder, while he sketched this and that on his huge architect desk.
Piano concerts, from the antique stand up piano with real tusk keys that were all chipped and typically out of tune from years in the basement, as we sat on the antique stool that would go up
Up
Up if you spun it one way and aaaalll the
Way
Down when you went the other way. Our music could be heard all the way to the third floor, to everyone's pleasure, I'm sure.
My favorite though was going to the duck pond. The grandparents would save the heels and any bread that went stale in between visits, so we would have bags to feed the happy-to-see-us ducks.
The whole family went sometimes, but I mostly remember Grandpa taking Leanne and I. He drove a square gold car. It had a leather bag that hung on the window roll for trash. Not all trash, he would tell us, only tissues or straw/candy wrappers. Nothing sticky.
We went so often we told him we could give him directions. So he let us tell him when to turn and which way and when we were dead wrong he's say "Are you sure you want to go that way???" We giggled and it took us a whole lot longer to feed the ducks, but we always made it to the pond eventually.
Such fond memories. Grandparents are wonderful and in my childhood especially, a source of stability. No matter where we moved, both sets of grandparents never moved. We slept in the rooms my parents grew up in. These wonderful homes were covered in the treasure of family history. And even though they have passed and the homes have been sold I am thankful for pictures, and memories like drives to the duck pond....
(Ooo. Fancy-shmancy.
Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone)
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