When I was little, I would occasionally stay at my grandparent’s house. I loved to go there. The counter tops in the kitchen were beautiful in my small six year old eyes with their turqiouse and gold coloured stars. Grandma made the best popsicles with orange juice and a maraschino cherry in the end. My brother would always throw out the cherry, much to my grandmother’s chagrin. They had a black toy poodle named Cindy whom I adored. I can still recall the smell of her coat, the feeling of her little claws when she’d jump across my lap in the backseat of their silver Volvo, the delight I’d feel from the sensation of her licking my bare summer legs covered in salt from running all day through the vast back yard, and the pride I’d feel when walking her as I’d pretend she was ‘mine’. Grandpa played the piano wonderfully. I was tickled pink to sit beside him on the piano bench to play ‘Heart and Soul’ with him. I felt special. We’d sit and sing ‘Bye Bye Blackbird’ and ‘Ain’t She Sweet’ as he played amazing melodies on the piano and belt out a song with his deep voice. I can still recall the cool sensation on my cheek when I’d lay my head against their electric blue satin jacquard sofas. Occasionally, the glasses that I pull from our dishwasher smell identically to the squeaky clean, dry hot juice glasses that I’d drink from at their house. My sister and I would lay in the bed in the ‘gold room’ and my brother in the crib on these overnight stays to their house. Grandpa would come and tell us amazing stories about a monkey named ‘Jacko’, much to our delight. After he’d left us, my sister and I would lay snug in the bed counting the cars passing their house as their headlights shone through the curtains creating a streak of light that would slowly creep across the wall as the passing car travelled to its’ destination. As an adult, I realize that it is impossible…but in my memory, I could see the actual sillouette of each individual car as it passed. During these sleepovers, we’d be lulled into dreamland to the sounds of Grandpa and Grandma’s television in the next room. To this day, when I hear the theme song for ‘Golden Girls’ or CTV News, I feel safe, comfortable and truly loved. I knew that no matter what, they were here for me. They loved me. I was safe. Protected. And the word outside this little bedroom didn’t matter. I was at Grandma and Grandpa’s. I wish I could feel so safe and comfortable now. Maybe I can borrow a Golden Girls DVD from the library and play it in a loop outside my bedroom. It’s worth a try….:)
This blog contains a fair amount of swearing, painful and difficult subject matter. If you have objections of any kind, I believe it's your right to not agree. But, please, keep those objections to yourself and keep yourself busy withsomething else.
A few musings of a homeschooling, crafting, neurotic, organic loving and, most of all, kiddo adoring mommy...I've now become a widow. My best friend and husband died of a pulmonary embolism on March 25th, 2008. This blog has now become a place for me to mentally unload and try to figure out how to do this and who I am without him.