Posted tagged ‘grandmothers’

It’s easier to put on slippers than to carpet the whole world.

April 3, 2014

The day is bright and sunny and framed by a clear blue sky. It is a bit chilly but I don’t care. It’s the sun that matters.

Today is a stay home day, a day for the mundane. The wash sits in the hall waiting to go down stairs, the watering can for the plants is on the counter, the litter is by the door where the litter boxes are and the clean sheets are by the bed. I’ll stay in my grubbies all day. It’s that sort of a day.

I forgot to switch from slippers to shoes when I went out the other day. My slippers are a bit worse for wear. Each one has a hole in the toe, the right slipper’s hole being much larger. They fit fine so I don’t know why the holes. I figured it is old lady syndrome though I really don’t think of myself as an old lady. I remember my grandmother wearing her house dress covered by an apron and wearing slippers with the backs down and stockings rolled around her ankles. My other grandmother would never have worn slippers or had stockings rolled around her ankles. She also wore a fancier dress usually flowered, never a house dress, and she smelled like lilacs. This grandmother was not my favorite. My other grandmother always had spaghetti on the stove and cheese you had to grate yourself on the table. She had eight kids and six of the eight were married, and we were all there every holiday to visit, cousins galore. My grandmother had chocolate bunnies for us each Easter and a present every Christmas. My grandfather hid in his bedroom from all the bedlam, but he used to give us dimes if we dropped into say hello. He kept a pile of them on the table beside his bed. My other grandfather was an imposing figure with whom we had little interaction. He was not a favorite either.  It was the slippers which brought all this to mind.

“We turn not older with years, but newer every day.”

August 15, 2010

The day is overcast and a bit chilly. The sun was here earlier, but it disappeared while I was at breakfast. Last night was cold. We sat on the deck for movie night clad in sweatshirts and wrapped in afghans. Even Gracie had her afghan though hers was more for comfort than warmth. Dinner was pasta and garlic bread, perfect for a cold night on the deck.

The hummingbird comes every late afternoon around the same time. Yesterday I watched as that lovely bird drank from the nectar feeder hanging from a flower pot. The nectar bubbled as he drank. The bird then alighted on a branch, and I got to watch. Most times a hummingbird is a whirl of wings, but I got to see the dainty bird with his long bill just sit for a bit. I dared not move lest I scare him, but Gracie ran up the deck stairs and the glass lanterns shook and scared away my bird. Today I’ll remember to bring out my camera in hopes of getting a few pictures.

I always used to wonder how old people felt. I’d see them walking uptown to the First National pulling their carts behind them. Old back then was, of course, relative. I was young and even a teenager seemed worldly. My grandmother was forty nine when I was born. All my life I never thought of her as anything but old. She walked with a stoop. I always figured it started because she was taller than my grandfather and then she just stayed that way. Her clothes were sensible, and she smelled like lilacs. Her house was perfectly neat and free of dust. A bowl of candy was always on the table. We’d take only one or two but always wished we were brave enough to take more. She liked fruit jellies. Her hair was gray. She went to the beauty parlor every couple of weeks. It was her only extravagance. Her laugh was loud and sometimes embarrassing. I always figured she was so old she didn’t notice much anymore.

Old is again relative. All those old people I saw and wondered about knew they weren’t old at all.