One of my favorite people turned 87 recently. My grandmother and my friend. There is no place I love to go more than her house. I’ve spent so much time there over my life that it regularly figures into my dreams. Even as a teenager, I would rather go there than to the mall.
My children feel that timeless, peace when they walk through the door, too.
Going to G & P’s was a big deal for them. They found endless amusements, digging through my grandmother’s drawers and shelves. Everything they touched had a story behind it. And just like when I was a child, she spoiled them with a hospitable attention to detail, letting me rest a little when I was a new mother. It’s vacation at Grandmommy’s.
We never left from a visit without having had a tea party with my mother’s old set of play dishes. There was always never ending rolls of scotch tape, markers, pencils and paper for a creative little boy. Her house was the perfect backdrop for all sorts of imaginary play. She and my grandfather’s closet was often raided for ill fitted clothing and slippers to costume the “orphaned waifs” that tramped all over the house.
The backyard swing was Pocahontas’ canoe and the orange umbrella a sword. they were never self-conscious in her presence. Being with her is as natural as breathing. If more than a week passes without a visit the kids say, “We need to go to Grandmommy and Papaw’s. We haven’t been there in forever.”
We just feel right there. My troubles lose their gravity as the day is spent talking and laughing together.
She knows how to make a home.
or a spa.
or a hideout.
Happy Birthday Grandmommy!