A Day At Grandma's

TICK … toc … TICK … toc … bbbBBBOINGGGggg.

Just one boing on Grandma's old clock. It's one of those quieter boings – not one for counting hours – the kind that makes grown-ups say " it's a quarter passed." What does that mean? I am going to have to remember to ask Grandma tomorrow at breakfast. She can answer any question in such a way that I feel smarter after hearing what she says.

Remember … ask …… what ……… "quarter passed" ………… means. (I drift off to sleep snuggled in covers that are crisp, clean and COLD. The spare bedroom isn't heated as much as other parts of the house.)

Morning greets me with the smell of bacon and coffee. I hope she hasn't started cooking the eggs yet! Grandma makes the greatest eggs. She calls them "Peek-A-Boo" eggs. She ONLY cooks them for me. Grandpa never gets to have them. But, somehow, these cold sheets turned really warm overnight and I want to stay under them … bbbBBBOINGGGggg … bbbBBBOINGGGggg.

Two of those quieter boings! Gotta ask Grandma what THAT means. I jump out of bed, running toward the kitchen.

Grandma isn't there – just Grandpa and Junior, Grandma's brother. (They "took him in" because he wasn't very smart and his back was shaped weird. He couldn't hear very well, either.) Both are intently listening to the farm report on the radio. I've learned to be quiet and don't ask questions when the farm report is on. I can feel my question fading from my mind as I look around Grandma's kitchen and see all the interesting stuff. Just in time, they turn off the radio.

Grandpa! Grandpa! I heard the clock. Does that mean it's 50 cents past the hour now? Grandpa laughed. Junior just looked at him, puzzled. Grandpa pointed at his watch and yelled "He asked if it was 50 cents passed the hour!" They both laughed so hard it looked painful.

Here, let me explain … Grandpa tried his best to explain it to me but he just didn't understand my question. He kept talking about 60 minutes in an hour and 15 minutes and 30 minutes and stuff like that – pointing to his watch that didn't even have numbers on it – never once did he say anything about coins or quarters. I just nodded when he asked if I understood. "Where's Grandma?" I wondered.

Grandma was already cleaning. She did that a lot.

After breakfast, she asked me to dust the stairs going up to the second floor. It was a HUGE wooden staircase and it took a long time to get to the top. When I got there, I noticed more stuff up there than before. Grandma said that my Mom's cousin and two friends moved in just before they went to the Navy. I didn't think much of it since I didn't know what the Navy was or anything. (It was only later in life I learned that Jimmy and his friends didn't have parents that treated them very nice. So Grandma and Grandpa "took them in" kind of like Junior, but different.) She said I was not supposed to go up there. It was off limits.

Later that day, I snuck up the stairs to see what all that stuff was. I shut the door at the bottom of the stairs so Grandma couldn't hear the stairs creak and groan. There was all kinds of things to explore but my fun was interrupted. Grandma was calling me. I needed to get downstairs FAST so I wouldn't get in trouble for being up there. I knew better than to run down the stairs but I had to go faster than walking. I sat on my behind and slid down each step. WHOMP … WHOMP … WHOMP and with just two more steps to go, the door swung open and Grandma yelled "WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT GOING UP THERE!" I was so scared I probably could have jumped all the way back up in one big giant leap but I just would have been in trouble again. So I just sat there eyes welling up and lip starting to quiver. Instantly, it became nap time.

With the shades pulled down it was dark inside, even in the middle of the day. Sleep never came right away at Grandma's. Everything was so different. She had this big shadow box mirror above the couch. I would stand on the couch looking at all the figurines. Little angels, birds, elephants, and a whole host of characters were on those little shelves. They would come to life right before my eyes. Some would wave at me and I would smile back. I would watch them for quite awhile.

The doorbell rings. Somehow I am laying down on the couch with my head on my pillow and a blanket pulled over me. I stand up on the couch and not one of the figurines is moving about. They probably have to hold still when company comes.

My Grandma's sister arrives from out of town, her little dog held in her arm. They go into the kitchen to visit. I am thirsty so I go into the kitchen for something to drink. Her sister is a big person and her dog is very tiny. However, I just couldn't believe what I was seeing. Her chest was so big and the dog was so small, it could actually walk atop her chest as she leaned back in her chair. Aunt Elizabeth saw me starring at the sight and started laughing. Somehow the dog never fell off. It just absorbed all the jiggling.

More relatives start popping in which always seemed to happen a lot around dinner time at Grandma's. More plates are set around the table. Somehow, despite not feeling very well, Grandpa makes the table even bigger as even more plates are added. Good thing Grandma has big pots for cooking. There was always room for one more and somehow there was always enough food for everyone.

After a fantastic meal, everyone is telling stories, laughing and having a great time. I try with all my might to stay awake and listen to all the jokes. I don't understand a lot of them but I just like the sense of belonging to all these interesting people. I fall asleep on Grandma's lap.

Those days are long gone but they still influence how I view the world. I learned many valuable life lessons spending a day at Grandma's. If someone is handicapped, you accept them. If someone is poor, you help them out. If someone is overweight, you don't poke fun at them. If someone is hungry, there's always room for one more. If someone has nowhere to go, you take them in. If your spouse dies from cancer, somehow you keep going.

And never, ever, do you feel sorry for yourself for bearing the burdens of those around you. That's just what love does … but, most importantly, never, ever, slide down Grandma's stairs on your behind!

©2009 Kurt Holdorf, Illustration and Story

7707

I walked past a television the other day and just couldn't believe what I was hearing. No, it wasn't the usual negative news, noisy advertising or other such dribble. A commercial was encouraging kids to get out and be active. Wow, where have I been?

I'll tell you where I've been – I spent my early years in the land of imagination and fun activites – in the land called 7707. My siblings would know exactly what I mean by that and probably chuckled at the title before reading a single word of this story. Those numbers were part of our address, part of our phone number and part of my Dad's license plate. They set the stage for having even the little things in life be just a bit different … just a bit more interesting.

When I was young, we zoomed out the door at the crack of dawn and somehow found our way back home at dusk. Ok, I admit occasionally one of us would hear the faint call of our name from some place far away called home and we would have to return to this place for something called dinner or bedtime, but, other than that, there were all sorts of options for staying active and, as I recall, we didn't need to be prodded.

Decisions. Decisions. What to do next. The possibilities were endless.

We could ride my big Tonka Dump Truck down the sidewalk and wipe out at the end of it, for some reason, never registering that this toy would not roll on grass like it did on cement.

Occasionally, a friendly dirt clod fight with our friends up the street would be the activity of choice. Of course, nobody could throw accurately enough to hit anyone so rarely was it a bad experience.

If one was brave enough, one could walk the deadly, dangerous pathway at the top of the hill. Well, the pathway wasn't the scary part. Mom's response to our having journeyed to the forbidden zone was the problem. Especially when she would look us right in the eye upon our return and ask "Have you been up at the pathway eating those wild mulberries again?" N-n-n-o-o-o-o we haven't. I don't know how she kept from laughing – faces and hands red as could be from gathering and eating those delectable mulberries. Duh.

When I was able to ride my bike without training wheels, boy, my horizons expanded … at least two blocks. Not sure if I ever fully explained to my Dad that the only way I could start riding my bike was to lean it against his car, the bike handle strategically placed just above the trim so I could ride along side the car, using it like a launch pad. For weeks I had to walk my bike home if I decided to stop riding it during my great adventures.

We didn't need to be entertained back then. We used our imagination to make just about anything fun.

Ghost In the Graveyard, Kick the Can, variation after variation of baseball – you had to make up new rules depending upon where you played and how many showed up – plus other games kept us energized day after day. No electricity. No batteries. No plugs of any kind were required. If you had a buddy back at "the fort" whom you needed to contact while you were out "scouting" the thick wild brush [read: vacant lot next door], you didn't pull out a cell phone, you didn't whine until your parents bought a Radio Shack walkie-talkie. No! You found a block of wood and a nail. You poked a bunch of dents into the front side with the nail for a speaker, then pounded the nail into the top of the wooden block as an antenna. As long as you could yell pretty loud, it worked just fine.

You just don't see kids unplugged any more. They have turned their minds over to an electronic gadget of some kind and always seem bored if they can't see a screen of some sort. I feel sorry for anyone who gets bored.

With all of today's instant gratification and mind-numbing constant bombardment of mental stimulus, many have either forgotten or never learned how to keep every day interesting. There is so much to do … so much to learn … so much to feel and experience.

I like blogs, Facebook, Twitter, MP3's, texting, email, and the like but I have come to the conclusion that, after all these years of enjoying electronic toys, I'd still rather be walking the path, riding my bike, playing a sport, or making up a game for my main source of entertainment.

Unplug a little bit more each day and see what's out there. Be someone who is entertaining, rather than one who has to be entertained. You just might like it.

©2009 Kurt Holdorf

Commemorative of Walter Cronkite