Posted by peskypippi | Posted in Childhood, Family, Grandparents, Memories, Music, Relationships | Posted on 11-09-2012
Tags: childhood, family, grandparents, love, memories
Being the youngest grandchild gave me pampering privileges.
My grandfather, with his Einsteinish hair–crimped, like white cotton candy–would sit in his La-Z-Boy chair, with the cracked seat cushions, letting me pet the whiteness. But only for a few minutes. Too much giggling.
He would let me sit on the armrest while he did his crossword puzzle in the daily newspaper. I loved how he would straighten the newspaper out just so—crackle–and fold it back into quarters, and then into eighths. A perfect rectangle. He was always with pencil. If not in his hand, then one tucked behind his fluff. The heavy black Webster dictionary was by his side. He would look up words as he read and pontificated. And he would put a check mark by the words he looked up with his pencil. Proof that he had been there. Over the years as I would flip through the wonton-thin pages of the dictionary, I was amazed at how many words had been studied.
As I sat by his side, balancing on the armrest, I was encouraged to watch, but not talk too much. He liked my company but he didn’t like distraction. Except for the hefty bowls of Butter Brickle ice cream my grandmother would bring us. The brown sugar toffee crystals would dissolve on my tongue and I’d let the ice cream pool into liquid—savoring and prolonging the moments.
I would sprawl out on the orange-gold shag carpet that smelled a little wooly, a little doggy. I’d spread pillows onto the floor, to make a nest.
His soft pencil scribbles usually lulled me into a nap.
Sometimes, special memories don’t hit you until it’s too late.
I want to go back to that living room on White Oak to hear the newspaper crinkling, smell the carpet, taste the toffee, and fall asleep in my special nest, pampered in the love of my grandparents.