That cat HATES the carrier. She knows it means a visit to the vet, and it's a struggle to get her in the carrier--after I drag her out from under the bed. Coming home, she's very willing to get back in the carrier, and she knows when we're home. I think it's the bump just at the beginning of the driveway.
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My sister and I chat almost every evening for a couple hours. So if you want to phone me between 5:00-7:00pm (Pacific time) on weekdays, forget about it.
Our conversations run the gamut to Hi, how was your day, to reminiscenses of our childhood, politics, her bridge game, and whatever else happens to come up. So I'm going to reminisce a little about my grandparents.
Mom and grandpa were about as unalike as any couple I've ever know. Mom was educated to the 3rd grade, she could sign her name, and read her Bible. She was forever cleaning house and cooking. She had the whitest sheets I've ever seen hanging on a clothesline. And her laundry was on the line before anyone else's in the neighborhood. It was a contest with her, but I don't think anyone else in the neighborhood cared who got her laundry on the line first.
Grandpa graduated from high school (a practically unheard of thing in his day and society), brewed his own beer, and Mom made the best rootbeer ever! Grandpa smoked smelly cigars but not in the house. Oh, no!! Grandpa loved his beer and Mom was a teetolaler. Mom was squeaky clean, Grandpa took a bath once a week whether he needed it or not. And Mom had to sneak into the bathroom and snatch his dirty clothes and replace them with clean. Otherwise Grandpa would just put on his old dirty clothes.
Grandpa had a liver and white pointer, hunting dog, at one time. I almost remember the dog's name. Anyway, he was smelly, too, and Mom wouldn't let him near her clean kitchen. All Grandpa ever wanted was to be a farmer, and wherever they lived Mom had a garden of her own. She grew the biggest, tallest snapdragons I've ever seen. Grandpa grew the sweetest, juiciest melons when they had farm acreage.
I remember butchering day, but I'd rather not. There was a huge rendering pot over a fire, in the back yard, and it stank! Grandpa made various kinds of sausages using the intestines of the hog he had butchered. To this day, I can't stand sausage!
Mom made lye soap (and other things) from the rendered fat. Somehow wood ashes and fat made soap. It wasn't the kind of soap one would bathe in. Oh, no, it would irritate the skin like crazy, but there was nothing better for cleaning floors (which Mom did a lot of) and producing sparkling white laundry. Of course a little bluing in the rinse water helped.
There was a grape arbor on the west side of the house that was a haven in the summertime. The grapes were small and sweet, but I haven't the vaguest notion of what variety they were. Sitting under that arbor and drinking Mom's rootbeer is a very fond memory.
There were other grapes--white and purple--growing in the back yard. I always like the white ones, but not the purple. Mom also raised chickens, and I remember one time watching her catch a chicken and wring its neck. Ever smell wet chicken feathers? The sight and smell ruined my appetite for dinner that day. I never again watched her prepare a chicken. The feathers were saved for pillows and comforters. Not even a potato peeling was wasted in my grandmother's house. Compost.
My grandmother was the world's best cook, and sometimes from nothing. I remember an Aunt checking the refrigerator and the cellar, and saying "Mother, there's not a thing in the house to fix to eat." But Mom could come up with a feast. I still think she had a magic wand. The family gathered at Thanksgiving, and let me tell you, you never ate such a turkey as my grandmother cooked! Her pies were to die for. The crust was tender and flaky, and the fruit fillings were seasoned to perfection. I'm still waiting for an apple pie to equal Mom's.
And her bread! Oh my! my mouth waters at the remembrance. Yeasty, full, firm loaves, biscuits, cinnamon rolls. I can *almost* duplicate her cinnamon rolls, but I buy bread now or make it in a bread maker. I've found some organic bread in one of the markets that's pretty good, doesn't fall apart when you butter it, but I would give my eyeteeth for a slice of Mom's bread, fresh out of the oven.
Grandpa used to take us (sister and me) on his lap and sing us German folksongs and lullabys. In German. He always smelled of his cigars, but as a child, I loved the smell. It was my Grandpa. Sometimes he would take us to town and buy us ice cream cones. What a treat that was! Not only the ice cream, but just being with Grandpa. He was a kind, gentle soul, and sometimes I think the only reason he stayed with his nagging, cranky wife was for her cooking.
Naw! people didn't divorce in those days. I think they loved each other in their own ways, and when Mom became so crippled with arthritis and confined to a wheelchair, Grandpa took care of her so tenderly it brings a lump in my throat to remember it.
They both lived hearty and productive lives, well into their 80s. I have many sweet memories of my grandparents (and some not so sweet, as when I got spanked with a switch)(but I probably deserved it). Anyway, I just had to put into words some of the things I remember about my grandparents. Hope you enjoyed reading about Henry and Henrietta.
Shalom.