Slightly mournful, soft coos floated into the quiet bedroom; dove song borne along by the same gentle breeze which ruffled the white eyelet curtains. The aroma of frying bacon and homemade biscuits baking delighted my nose, overpowering my fleeting desire to stay snuggled in my cozy bed. I dressed quickly in the dim early morning light, I knew I could not appear at Grandma’s huge farm table in my pajamas. I joined my two brothers, Randy and Roger, along with my Grandpa at the chipped, white painted table. Grandma, dressed in a floral cotton housedress, her stockings rolled and tied at her knees, was stirring milk gravy in a black cast-iron skillet. Grandpa was first to be served a heaping plate of bacon, eggs, biscuits and gravy, followed by Randy and Roger. Grandma and I always ate last. During our meal, she pronounced that she and I would be heading out to pick fresh greens as soon as the kitchen was set to order. I knew it was a momentous occasion because normally Randy, her preferred helper would have been her first choice. Picking wild spring greens was not a task Randy enjoyed and she knew being seventeen he would rather be doing just about anything else. I had gone along a few times although, never just Grandma and me. In my eleven-year old heart, I understood the importance of this first time alone with her. I did not know this “first time” would also be our last time. I carried the white-enameled wash bowl and a brown paper grocery bag to Grandma’s rusty, red Plymouth Valiant. I sat in the coveted front seat for the very first time; being the youngest, I never had the opportunity to sit in the front. I was feeling pretty special as Grandma drove slowly down Mackyferry Road. Driving slow was a... ... middle of paper ... ... to caress the fragile, golden beauty growing there. I was completely delighted, I understood the gift Grandma had given me and I sensed this was a profoundly holy place and moment. I picked as many flowers as I could carry and made my way back to my waiting Grandmother. My story didn’t seem to impress my brothers, my father or step-mother. I guess it was a “you have to be there” kind of thing. Grandma understood; it had been our adventure. She didn’t tell me how to feel about it nor did she try to explain it or define it. Being ever a practical woman, the mystical, magical moment ended when the work of cleaning the mound of greens began. Our experience ended and yet the gift of that day; continues to have life, to give life and love to me. Someday, I hope to know how she knew of her twenty-nine grandchildren, I was the one who would need this blessing.
Like every human, Grandma India sometimes focuses more on herself than others’ feelings and can be too harsh when reprimanding her grandchildren. An instance of the first flaw is on a Monday after school, when the family is playing Monopoly. “She didn’t look up. She was preoccupied with examining her next move on the board. We were already resigned to the fact that she would skunk us all once again. ‘Right, how so?’ she mumbled, not taking her attention off the game for even one instant” (Pattillo 136). In this quote, we see that Grandma India is too preoccupied with the game to pay attention to Melba’s telling of her school day. Now, normally she would care more about Melba’s experiences, but in this moment she is more caught up in playing a game that
I arrived at my grandma’s house in bewilderment. The smell of flavored pork and freshly made red sauce wafted out of the windows and rose with the sound of laughter. The family was already there: all four of my aunts elbow deep into bowls of chicken, pork, sauces; my cousins and a couple of uncles with rolled up sleeves spreading
Running around in the yard on a warm summer evening. No shoes are needed for this activity, they thought. My mother sitting next to her grandfather, swinging her bare feet from the old wooden bench out back. Her fondest memory was unfolding in front of her eyes. Uncle Scott and Cousin Kevin were running around yelling “throw it to me, to me.” My mother’s grandfather was throwing the baseball back and forth with the boys as my mother watched. “I loved watching the boys push and shove each other to be the one to catch the ball.” my mother said. As my mother bonded with her grandfather, they could hear the okra popping in the grease and the smell of the cheesy mashed potatoes lingering through the kitchen window. As grandma finished with dinner, she came outside and saw that the kids didn’t have shoes on. My mother vividly remembers this part of the story because she said “one thing that I remember is that maw maw never raised her voice very often.” Grandma looks sternly at Grandpa and shouts “what
As I walked through the door of the funeral home, the floral arrangements blurred into a sea of vivid colors. Wiping away my tears, I headed over to the collage of photographs of my grandfather. His smile seemed to transcend the image on the pictures, and for a moment, I could almost hear his laughter and see his eyes dancing as they tended to do when he told one of his famous jokes. My eyes scanned the old photographs, searching for myself amidst the images. They came to rest on a photo of Grandpa holding me in his lap when I was probably no more than four years old. The flowers surrounding me once again blended into an array of hues as I let my mind wander……
The small legs that whisked back and forth in the open space of the vehicle were full of energy. The young girl spent the day with the two people she admired the most. A bigger version of herself sat in the passenger seat with her husband driving next to her. They laughed over conversation. Every so often, the girl would stick thin fingers against her mother’s shoulder to receive her attention. She would say something trivial and obvious, but her mother would still entertain her. She absorbed every phrase her daughter said as if each filled her with a tremendous joy and was the greatest thing ever spoken. Her mother had selected a black dress for her today with a large white ribbon tied around her midsection. Her hair had been combed back in two braids so that the tips were touching her shoulder blades. They were coming home late from a Christmas party at church.
I chose to interview my Grandmama for this Biography Interview paper because she has had a very interesting life and she likes to tell stories about her experiences. I am fortunate enough to be able to see my Grandmama several times a week and we do many fun things together. She has been an important part of my life growing up.
Although I was unafraid to leave the porch, my brother preferred to stay on the swing with grandma. My bravery didn’t last long, as Dad took the grass to the pile without my customary wheel barrow ride.
My forty-first birthday passed just five days ago. The community of Green Bottle Street surprised me with a large feast at Mrs.Trusdale’s house when I got home from a long day of wine brewing. Over the past year, a lot has changed around here. About six months ago, Mrs.Trusdale was having troubles remembering simple things. Like where the flour was and what her name was. I decided to that it was time we went into town and
As children grow up they always look up to someone special in their life, someone that they can trust and is always there for them. This person is someone they admire and hope to be like someday. The person that I’ve described best fits my Grandma. She knows all the right things and is there whenever I need her. My grandma is one of the most important people in my life and I’m so happy that I have her.
The pungent aroma of the deceased cattle smacked me in the face as soon as I stepped out. It was almost impossible to find my way towards the barn as the fog thickened. The barn was on the verge of collapsing and dead leaves and hay were messily scattered all over the barn’s floor. To keep my mother’s farm standing, I worked tirelessly each day. I took care of the barn animals, watered and harvested crops and made sure the gardens were flourishing with fruits and vegetables. It reminded me of the farm work we did together and of all the sacrifices she’d made for the
The air is really fresh, and the wind is comfortable. Grandma usually opened the window during the daytime; I still remembered that feeling when the sunshine came in house and scatter. I walking among those numerous grand trees and admire colored leaves on the trees and on the ground. I miss that feeling of calmness and stability of the world around. I wish I could return the reality of those feelings once more. Memories in mind and never forget about happiness of staying in my grandmother’s house. Grandparent’s time-honored gift to their grandchildren is their unconditional love, unfettered by schedules, routines or commitments. They reinforced their grandchildren’s sense of security and self-value.
They say grandparents, are the two most favorite people in the world to children. Grandparents are the main characters of your childhood, they are the ones that leave you with the most beautiful memories of your life. Some grandparent’s teach you a very valuable lesson of life, they teach you respect, hard work, family values, and unlimited love. They show you their love in many ways, they say I love you in words as well as actions. Grandparents are the ones that sometimes get you out of trouble and guide you to the correct path. They show you trust, a trust that cannot never be broken.
As I finished eating, I heard the horn of my uncle’s car outside of my house, they seemed happy and ready to go. We all left at the same time, heading to my grandparent’s ranch. Once we get there, my cousins and I rushed to my grandfather’s fruit trees. He had apple trees, orange trees, lime trees, among others delicious fruits. As the time passed, lunch time came and everybody was called to eat. One of my uncles knows how to cook, and since he was in charge of the meat, he knew what to do to make it better. I remember the taste of that meat, it was delicious and everyone love
Before writing this I took the opportunity to venture back into those fabled woods, down that stretch of country gravel to see for myself what remained of the place where my mother grew up and so many fond memories were shared between my cousins and I. Suffice to say, no wild guess was needed to assume what to expect once the farmhouse was within view. I was not surprised when my eyes fell upon the solemn sight. That place which held a lifetime of memories shared by three generations was nothing more than a shadow left in shambles. The farm house had been swallowed up in the years passed as any sign of life and cultivation has been slowly returning to natural order. Gone away were the verdant fields, the shrill laughter of children, and the nostalgic smell of the seasons that always mingled with the aromas of Grannie Geis’ country cooking.
To a young child, their family may mean the world to them. To a child going to family reunions and seeing their grandparents is quite enjoyable. I felt that way as well at one point in my life, however, time changes everything.