This time of year always brings back memories of visiting family.
Every four or five years we’d trek back to upstate New York from wherever we were living at the time to visit the grandparents.
For some strange reason, which to this day I still have no reasonable explanation for, my father and BigBrother would stay at the paternal grandparent’s house and my mother and I would stay at my maternal grandparent’s house.
(It’s not that either house didn’t have room for all of us.)
I think it had something to do with my paternal grandmother.
She was batsh*t crazy.
I know it’s not nice to speak that way of your own grandma, but there’s no other way to put it.
She had ‘rules’.
For instance: If you ate breakfast at her house, you HAD to have three prunes (no more, no less.) There was no debate, it was a given.
I like prunes, but still….
If you asked for shredded wheat (the old fashioned big ones) you were only allowed one and she would soak it in water first before she put it into the cereal bowl, because it was wasteful to let it soak up the milk.
She always had lovely furniture that you weren’t allowed to sit on.
The couch cushions were down filled and always ‘plumped’ to just the right fluffiness. (God forbid if you sat down on them and she had to re-fluff!)
I spent a lot of my time out on the front porch. I couldn’t get into too much trouble out there!
|She looks like the life of the party doesn't she? LOL|