Posted by peskypippi | Posted in Childhood, Connections, Family, Grandmother, Memories, Summer | Posted on 25-06-2012
As a kid, Saturday nights were get-ready-for-church nights.
I would soak in the bubble bath, lingering until the water turned cold and the bubbles had vanished. Emerging, with my towel wrapped around my hair like a turban, and my nightgown that my Grandmother had laid out for me, I would join her at the kitchen table. Out came the tray of wonder. Her mirrored tray, with the golden handles, lined with bottles of nail polish in all shades of pink. No red. No purple. Just pink.
Peachy Keen Pink. Pink Lemonade. Rose Blush. Pink Carnation.
What a choice! I made my selection. But what I liked most, was shaking the little glass bottle with the miniature beads inside. The mixing beads. They don’t have those in nail polish bottles anymore, do they?
My Grandmother would paint my nails. And while they dried, we watched The Lawrence Welk Show. It was our thing.
She would tuck me into the crisp, freshly-laundered floral sheets. She would turn the sheets inside out, so that the folded-over sheet showed “the pretty side,” A homemade quilt at my feet. I would say my nightly prayer, “Now I lay me fast to sleep…” The box fan was going full speed, humming, on a hot Summer night. My Grandmother would sleep next to me, smelling like cold cream with her freshly curled-sprayed-and-set hair in a hair net.
It was Saturday night. Time to get ready for church the next day. What I remember most were the sweet rituals and time well spent with my Grandmother.