Granddaddy's House

Friday, November 21, 2014

I don't know what it is about my Grandfather's house, or at least I didn't know what it was about my Grandfather's house. Until the other day, when I read this touching post on Under the Sycamore. I find some days that I miss that house. I have a feeling I remember some grandeur that wasn't really there. It's not really that house, but the memories associated with it. Let me take you on a little tour.

It had an open style kitchen and breakfast area that was a gathering place. My grandfather loved big breakfasts. eggs, toast with marmalade jelly and grapefruit with sugar on top. There was always mini boxes of the sugary cereal in the pantry for the grandkids. And, there was usually a little dish with lemon drops somewhere.

There was a formal sitting room with a chase lounge that the grandkids had to be very careful in. There was a fun cedar closet upstairs that made the perfect hiding spot for hide-n-seek. Pink tile with pink roses in the upstairs bath. A giant walk-in closet with different doors for his side and hers. There was a door from the hallway to the den. I remember having fashion shows where I would make my grand entrance to show off the back to school clothes we shopped for that Granddaddy helped to buy. There was always a pellet gun resting by the back door to scare off the squirrels my Grandfather hated so much.

It's not really the indoors, that held the most memories. The backyard was a wonderland to us. Climbing trees, bench swings, and lots of room to run. Sometime they would put up a badminton net. The shed always help stilts and a Pogo stick. The old laundry line doubled as monkey bars. Granddaddy loved for us to pick up his pecans with those old spring style pickers (no idea what those are called). My cousins and I had hours of fun together while the adults hung out on the back porch. It is hard to think of how distant some of those relationships are now, but those memories are golden.

Strokes and aging turned my Grandfather a bit bitter and grumpy toward the end, but I will always remember the man he was, and the joy of being in his company. I can picture him in his jumpsuit taking a nap or cracking pecans in his chair even now. Tandy is named after him, and the name truly fits.

It is good to miss something that brings back such a flood of memories.

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