Family Briefs

Walk down memory lane with the “memories of home” carnival going on at Owlhaven. I did . . .

My parents divorced, requiring us to move a few times when I was between the ages of 3 and 6. I have very few memories of our first home, subsequent apartment, and first home after that. I consider all of these my childhood homes. What remained a constant for me during this troubling transitional time was my grandparents’ house.

We would travel what seemed like across country (really, it was just a few hours south) to arrive in the middle of the night. I would play “opossum” in the back seat so someone would carry me inside and plant me on the bottom bunk where I would find myself the next morning.

I remember one winter night stepping on the floor furnace in my bare feet on the way to the bathroom and waking the entire household. My foot was well-done! Of course, I have lots of good memories standing over that same furnace (with shoes on since I learned my lesson) having my dress “balloon out” around me as I basked in the warmth.

When we moved back to the town where they lived, we spent afternoons after school there. Of course, anytime we were sick and had to stay home, we spent the day on the couch at Granny and Pawpaw’s. We were pampered with Sprite, fudge royal ice cream (even though that was Pawpaw’s), and for daytime drama we got to catch up on “As The World Turns” and “Guiding Light.”

Most of our summers were spent at their house as well, since my mother worked. Even though my grandparents had very little money, they erected a 2-story playhouse in the backyard, complete with a bridge, balcony, and ladder. My sister, two cousins and I could play out there for hours! The playhouse became our castle, our pirate ship, our fortress against evil, and our private domain. The termites have claimed it now.

My grandparents had a garden, and we loved to tromp down through the rows to check out all the produce. We shucked corn, snapped beans, picked okra, and collected chestnuts (often from the roof of a shed, no less!). How I remember the hours on the back porch and subsequently in the kitchen working with Granny to prepare vegetables for canning!

We ran through the woods, climbed trees, played in the creek, and went every-which-where without a care in the world about being snatched. No one really worried about where we were, as long as we were home by dark. I long for my children to have the same carefree wanderings and adventures.

At Christmas, two huge plastic candles flanked the front porch. The artificial tree was covered in our craft projects from school. I never could figure out how Santa got in - the fireplace was fake (closed-in), and there was a huge display shelf in front of the only window I thought he could come in. I would sit in Pawpaw’s rocking recliner for what seemed like hours contemplating just that. I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me that he could just walk in the front door or come in the other window .

One of the best things about my grandparents’ house was the attic. There was a HUGE fold-down staircase in the small square hallway that led up to the attic that was the same size as the house (well, almost). There were bookshelves, toys, antique beds, and dress-up clothes from one end to the other. I’m sure many would have classified this as “junk,” but it was a haven of treasures for us. We could spend days playing together up there (well, at least until someone hurt my feelings ).

Nothing could ever beat Granny’s cookin’! We ate many a meal over there around the big dining room table. It was crowded, but it was family. One of the last meals I remember there left me feeling embarrassed and sad. My grandfather had Parkinson’s Disease, and I can remember my mother having told me that we shouldn’t be too somber about his condition. I decided to make a joke about an earthquake shaking the table to lighten the moment. Dirty looks told me I needed to work on my sense of humor.

My Granny always called me her china doll (that’s why my sister and cousins “hated” me - I was the baby). She really did spoil me and showed me unconditional love that I hadn’t experienced. Pawpaw always let me sit in his lap (at least, until I was too big) and eat his fudge royal ice cream. I wish I had realized then how good I had it. Despite its brokenness and hurts, it really was a fantastic childhood.