'Twas the Night Before Christmas

We all have treasured memories and magical times from our youth. Some of my most magical memories are from Christmas Eve. It was a special day for our family. Growing up we never missed the family gathering at my grandparent's house to celebrate together on Christmas Eve.

My aunt, uncle, and cousin met up with my family at my grandparent's house each year on Christmas Eve. I don't remember a year that we missed Christmas Eve until I was grown up and moved far away from home.

These Christmas Eve celebrations were usually joyful occasions, but as we got to our teenage years there were some grouchy teenagers there, namely my brother and I.  Especially when Grandma forced us to bring our band instruments and play. My brother and my cousin were good and I was not, but Grandma did not care. We played Christmas carols and she was happy.

One of my favorite memories of Christmas Eve was how Grandpa would label our gifts from him as from Santa. We all knew his handwriting even as kids, but the joy these gifts from Santa brought were fun. I always treasure that he went this extra step to make our Christmas magical.

Grandpa always bought chocolate covered cherries for the ladies in the family. He would buy the cheap red Queen Anne's boxes you see in the stores. They are not fancy and now that I am an adult I am not that big of a fan, but it was his thing and we loved it. My dad has carried this tradition on since my Grandpa passed away. It still brings joy to my heart to see those red boxes of chocolate covered cherries sitting under the tree.

Each year on our way out the door, Grandpa would say, "Make sure you are watching for Santa on the way home. You might see Rudolph's nose or hear the sleigh bells." My brother and eye would keep our eyes peeled the whole way home looking for Santa Claus.

So tonight, love your family. Remember the good times. Make Christmas magical. Oh, and read "'Twas the Night Before Christmas".

"Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!"  ~ Clement Clarke Moore 

O Christmas Tree

What kind of Christmas tree do you get? Growing up we always had a real tree. I love the smell, the feel, and the look of a real tree. I have fond memories of going to the Christmas tree farm and cutting our own tree. The joy of decorating the tree was glorious.

Thankfully, we have had several opportunities in Little Bear's lifetime to go cut down our own tree. When we lived farther north it was wonderful at Christmas time. The tree farms were like magic. Living here the soil is sandy and the very few tree farms are different. The type of trees is just not the same. They consider juniper's to be Christmas trees and some other strange varieties as Christmas trees.

I had my first fake tree as an adult. I was newly married to my first husband and he wanted a fake tree. Not gonna lie having a fake tree broke my heart a little.

Now, with Popeye, we have decorated fake trees more often than I would like, but sometimes it has been out of necessity. We have celebrated Christmas with extended family at Thanksgiving several times and put up the fake tree before tree farms were even opened. Then, there have been a couple of times that we have had an extremely early Christmas before deployments. A fake tree works for that and I still find joy in decorating it. Honestly, some of my most memorable Christmas decorating memories have been with fake trees.

First, there were several years my grandparents had a small fiber optic Christmas tree. This little tree was in style when they bought it. My grandparents thought it was so neat. The rest of us liked it the first couple of years and then the tree started making a high pitched noise. The noise was terrible. We mentioned it to my grandparents for a couple of years and they could never hear it. They finally agreed that it must be true since we all complained about it two Christmas seasons in a row. That was the last of the fiber optic tree.

This year and last year we had a small fake tree. We decorated well before Thanksgiving last year. Decorating that small fake tree as a family knowing we would not actually be celebrating gathered around it together on Christmas morning was a mix of sadness and joy on my part. The best part was in the several months we left the Christmas tree up Little Bear and I laughed about decorating with Popeye. We wore our Santa hats and decorated. We laughed and made memories.

This year we decorated that same little fake tree before Thanksgiving. We celebrated Christmas at Thanksgiving with Popeye's parents. I won't let the fake tree stop me from joy at Christmas, but I won't lie and say I don't miss a real tree.

Cinnamon Sugar Pretzels

I love salty and sweet snacks. Salty and Sweet is my favorite snack food category. When Popeye and I got married his sweet grandma sent me a recipe for a salty and sweet snack he loves. When I read the recipe I was thinking it sounded a little odd, but it isn't. It's really perfect.

Pretzels Before Being Microwaved

Salty and Sweet - Cinnamon and Sugar - Crunchy Salted Pretzel Nuggets.... What gets better than that? Basically nothing. One of the best things about it is that it is gastroparesis-friendly, or at least enough for my GP. The one problem with this snack is I always manage to eat too much of it!

This recipe is ridiculously easy.

Ingredients:

1 pound pretzel nuggets or whatever 1/3 cup sugar 1-2 tsp cinnamon 2/3 cup vegetable oil

Directions:

Mix oil, sugar, and cinnamon. Pour over pretzels in a microwave safe bowl.
Stir until all the pretzels are coated with the sugar mixture. Microwave for 2 minutes. Stir.
Microwave again for 30 seconds to 1 minute. Stir after each 30 seconds or 1 minute. They will probably need 5-6 minutes total in the microwave.

The Christmas Bell

My grandma and grandpa always loved decorating for Christmas. They would start decorating soon after Thanksgiving. I remember going to visit them in the weeks before Christmas and they would pull out all the Christmas stuff and my brother and I would help them decorate. They had a fake Christmas tree, lights for the house, wreaths, mistletoe, and an adorable Christmas village. 

As we decorated my grandma would talk about where she got each piece. Many of their decorations had some kind of sentimental value. She treasured each one of them no matter what they looked like. 

The quaint Christmas village buildings were gifts from my cousin over the years. He started giving them to her long before I can remember. By the time I was in college it had become almost a city instead of a village. 

There was a fuzzy bell shaped ornament that had been a gift from some old friends. This bell was old and faded as long as I could remember. Every year as I helped hang ornaments on Grandma and Grandpa's tree, I tried to hide this tattered looking bell
out of sight.

The unsightly bell still makes an appearance for Christmas. When my family went through Grandma's things they sent me several of her ornaments and decorations. I somehow got this ratty old bell. This year when I pulled it out one of the Santa's on it had broken off. I lovingly glued Santa back on and hung the bell on my Christmas tree. I see it and want to laugh and cry all at the same time. I find my eyes misting with tears because I miss decorating with Grandma. Then, I laugh since this ugly bell, that I tried to hide each year, is now something I faithfully put on my own tree now. 

Birds

I hate birds. I have always hated birds. I don't know if it stems from watching parts of Alfred Hitchcock's "The Birds" as a child or if it comes from being bitten by several birds at the zoo and chased by geese at the park, and dive bombed by seagulls at the beach. Either way, I really do not like birds.

My Grandma always loved birds. She had bird feeders and bird houses. She had hummingbird feeders she kept full all the time. She had little bird decorations and Christmas ornaments. She loved her birds.

When she moved into the assisted living apartment she did not have anywhere to hang a bird house or bird feeder. Sometimes she would buy bird food when she rode the bus to Walmart. She would put the bird seed out on the little balcony porch she had. Then, one day she quit buying bird seed.

She started getting bread and rolls from her apartment and putting them out on the little porch for the birds to eat. She would always get doves that would come and eat her bread. They seemed to keep all the other birds away. She still enjoyed the doves and any other birds she saw.

All through the years, Grandma would tell me stories about her birds. Before the assisted living place, she had constant complaints about squirrels getting into the bird feeders. Then, there were the complaints about the birds being picky and only eating certain types of seeds, like sunflower seeds. In my life, I never appreciated her love for birds.

The last couple of years, I have finally started to find an appreciation for birds. I am by no means a birder or even a real lover of birds. I have begun to enjoy seeing the wide variety of birds that comes through our yard each year. I have also begun to appreciate taking pictures of birds. Some birds have a majestic and stately look, others have beautiful and vibrant coloring, then there are strange looking birds and even elegant birds. I never expected to grow to like birds, but I do. I still would like to keep them at a distance. I have no intention of getting bitten by birds ever again.

Real Pants or Not?

I never wore leggings until after I was diagnosed with gastroparesis. Now I love leggings and yoga pants. They are my favorite pants. When eating makes me bloated, not your normal bloated but a painful balloon in my belly kind of bloated, you do what you have to do. Jeans are not an option on those days.


Not wearing jeans every day has been a huge sacrifice for me. I always wear jeans, always have. They are my favorite pants, but when I am bloated they really hurt. I had no choice, but to give in to my bloated belly and find alternatives.

I started with dresses. I love a good dress. However, dresses are not good for working in the yard and garden. They are not good for laying in the hammock. A dress is not always an option. So, you guessed it... I turned to yoga pants and leggings.

If you would have asked my grandma she would say that leggings are not real pants and no one needs to be wearing them out in public. My dad would agree with her. Talking on the phone with my grandma she was always complaining about the old ladies with too much fat wearing leggings. She said no one ever needed to wear pants that tight, old or young, but especially old.

I have learned something. I don't really care that my grandma would cringe if she were here and knew how many times I have walked out my front door and enjoyed the day wearing leggings and a tunic top. Little Bear told me the other day that he was sure my grandma could see me from heaven. This thought made me laugh and laugh. I am sure that as she looks down on me wearing leggings she is ranting about how she cannot believe I would do such a thing and Jesus is telling her it's okay. Pretty sure she would argue with even God about whether or not leggings are acceptable pants. I love my leggings. I love my grandma, but from her seat up in heaven. she will just have to understand that sometimes, leggings is just the best option I have.

I honestly have learned to like leggings. They are extremely comfortable. They are made from a soft and cozy fabric. They fit me well without feeling like a saw blade trying to cut through my abdomen as I swell up after eating. They look really cute with a long shirt and boots. Even if they looked awful, I would probably keep wearing them.

So, it's up to you to decide for yourself, are leggings real pants or not? In my book, leggings are real pants.

A Loving Kid with a Big-Heart and a Lot of Faith

A couple of weeks ago, Sunday morning church both wonderful and emotional. It started like every other Sunday morning does. I was dragging because I hate mornings and am never ready to get up. Little Bear and Popeye were up and ready long before I was. We left for church and were only a couple of minutes late for Sunday School. I blame traffic, not really it was all me and my slowness.

This Sunday was a special service at our church. It was our celebration of All Saint's Day. They read a list of names of our church members that passed away during the last year and they lit candles for them. After this, we had a time for people to speak the names of family members and friends who have passed away in the last year.

I have been extra tearful lately, I blame hormones, but the tears started rolling down my face and I could not speak. Little Bear looks at me and whispers "say her name mom." When he realized I couldn't say it for my tears he shyly says "Great Grandma." Then, he whispers to us "I don't know her real name." Popeye told him and Little Bear said it quietly just as the prayer started.

The next thing Little Bear did was crawl into my lap and hug me tight until my tears stopped flowing. Then, sweet Little Bear looked into my eyes and apologized for messing up her name. I whispered to him that he did well and thank you and hugged my big-hearted boy tight.

Later in the service, we had the Lord's Supper. Little Bear accepted Jesus several years ago but has always been in children's church when we have done the Lord's Supper. This was the first time he participated in it. I whispered as much explanation as I could about how and why we do it. When the tray of tiny, gross, dry crackers (you know you have had that thought, too) came around, I reminded him to only touch ONE cracker and then I told him they are dry, hard, and do not taste good. I also told him not to make any ugly faces or say anything about how bad they taste.

The time came to eat our bread and the look on Little Bear's face was one of dismay and disgust and trying really hard to hide it. He chewed and chewed trying to finish the tiny piece of cracker. When he finally swallowed it down, he looked at me and whispered: "You were right, Mom, they are bad."

The best part of Sunday came when Little Bear walked down the aisle to make a profession of faith and ask to be baptized. He was shy and nervous so he took Popeye and me with him. He talked to the pastor about his decision and our church welcomed him with open arms. Little Bear was shy about standing up in front of everyone and having everyone stare at him. When people came up to shake his hand after the service, my Little Bear was in his element. He loved shaking hands and talking to everyone. He even asked me if he could do that part again sometime.

So, all in all, our Sunday was beautiful. Our Little Bear is turning into a loving kid with a big-heart and a lot of faith.

To Everything There is a Season

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which has been planted;

Ecclesiastes 3: 3-2 

It has been one year since my grandma left this world. When she left this world she went home and has spent the last year in heavenly bliss. She is with Jesus and my grandpa. I am torn between joy for her eternal happiness and sadness for my own loss.

I won't deny that this year has been difficult. I still have moments when I pick up the phone and realize as soon as I do that I cannot call her. It seems silly and a little crazy. It's not like I have forgotten she is gone, it is just habit, I suppose. After years of calling her almost weekly, it seems strange to have gone for one year without hearing her voice.

The hardest times have been around the holidays and around special family days. Then, there are the days when Little Bear and I went home and we normally would have visited, but instead we drove straight through the town she lived in. My heart broke again as we drove through without a reason to stop.

My grandma was a special lady. She adored me... and I don't really know why. I was always a smart aleck and sarcastic. I enjoyed her even when I thought she was a little nutty or a little mean. We had moments that we argued, but that never kept us from loving each other.

My grandma loved her family, but sometimes I don't think she knew how to show it. She was often harsh with all of us. She said hurtful things and meant them. It was her own style of blunt honesty. I often have wondered where I got that quality, but now I know.

The thing I admired most about my grandma is her faith. I don't remember her talking about her faith too much as a kid. As an adult, she frequently told me about God and how he blessed her. She loved him. She had a great faith and that faith filled her with peace, especially near the end.

I pray that my faith will blossom and grow as her's did. I pray when my time comes I can be at peace with my life and ready to join my Savior in heaven. In the meantime, I will read His Word and draw peace and hope from the Bible and the example of those who have gone before me.

Good night, John Boy. Good night, Grandma.

Every time I talked to my grandma on the phone there was always specific things we talked about, almost an order to the conversation. We almost always started with the traditional things, like "Hi, Grandma." Then the weather and any weather threats she had seen on TV within a 300-mile radius of us.

After the weather questions came the questions about Little Bear, Popeye, and I. When she knew we were all alive and well she would start her stories. She talked about life in the assisted living place. She talked about the people she met there. I'm pretty sure most of the information she relayed to me was inaccurate.

Then, before we could end our conversation she ALWAYS asked about what shows I watch on the television.  She never had a clue about any of the shows I watched. Not to mention the fact that, after she asked she never stopped talking long enough for me to answer.

She was ready to tell me about the shows she watched. She had a select few shows she watched reruns of regularly. She watched Reba, M.A.S.H., and her absolute favorite The Waltons. The Waltons had been her favorite show for years. Thankfully they played reruns on TV often because I am pretty sure she watched them every time they were on.

When they rearranged the TV schedule she had to rearrange her daily schedule so she could watch The Waltons. I am sure she had seen every episode more times than she could remember, but she loved them just the same. She also loved to tell me about them. Sometimes she would tell me every detail she could remember of the episode she just watched. Every time she would tell me, "If you don't watch The Waltons every day you should."

Every time I flip past The Waltons on television or in the guide I think of my grandma and the joy she got from those old reruns she had seen millions of times. "Good night, John-Boy." Good night, Grandma.

How's the weather?

I love a good storm. The thunder rolling, the lightning streaking across the sky, the wind blowing, and the rain pouring down, all appeal to something deep inside of me. My grandma never understood this part of me. She would never admit it, but she was a worrier where the weather was concerned. She could never see how I loved to sit and watch a storm roll in or why I would want to run through the rain.

As a child, I remember Grandma always worrying about the weather. She would fret if the weather was going to be even a little bit bad. She would stay home from running errands if it was rainy or windy. We would stay inside and play if we were at her house during a storm. 

As an adult, it was all too clear to me that my grandma feared storms. If I would drive to her house in the rain she would worry about me driving home and try to convince me to stay until the rain had stopped and it wasn't just because she wanted the pleasure of my company. She just worried that I would not be able to see in the rain or that the roads would flood. 

When I moved across the country, my grandma would call me about the weather. We had moved to the East Coast and no matter where we lived she could not remember. She would see bad weather on the East Coast and worry that it was affecting us. A storm could be 500 miles away and she would be sure it was going to get us.

Oftentimes, my phone would ring and my grandmother would call with news about the weather that I had not seen yet. Rarely were these weather systems going to be anywhere near us.

If I did not answer the phone she would leave me voice mails. Many times over the years I would have a voicemail saying "Did you see that storm out there? Is it coming near you? Are you going to have a hurricane?" If I didn't call her back within 12 hours or so she would call again, sometimes early, like the crack of dawn.

If I still didn't answer she would call my parents, also at the crack of dawn. Then, my mom would call me and say "You MUST call your grandma. She is worried about the weather again." I would call her back and tell her we were fine. Thankfully, we were always fine.

After all the years of laughing about those calls, who knew how much I would miss those calls and questions like "How's the weather?" Thankfully, my aunt has picked up the slack and texts me to ask how the weather is and if we are okay.

A Witness to a Robbery or Not?

Every time I talked to my Grandma on the phone she would have something crazy to say. I mean every single time.

One of the funniest stories started with "Yesterday I witnessed a bank robbery!" I sat there a minute waiting for her to continue and wondering what really happened because if she had really witnessed a bank robbery I was sure my parents would have told me about it.

Her story went something like this. She rode the bus from the assisted living place to the bank. At the bank, she got some money. Then, as they were leaving the bank parking lot they saw a man running through the bushes with a backpack. The man was wearing a black shirt and blue jeans. She was sure he had robbed the bank and the money he stole was in his pack.

She tried to tell the bus driver to stop or follow him, but he would not do it. I, of course, found her story as fishy as the poor bus driver. Working for an assisted living and nursing home facility I'm sure he was used to hearing crazy stories.

I googled to see if there were any bank robberies in the area. Of course,
 there were not. Grandma said she was sure he had stolen money or he would not have been running through the bushes with a backpack in a black shirt and jeans. 

Blessed

God has blessed me in many ways but recently while I was on the phone with my grandma I realized again how blessed I am that at over 30 I still have two living grandparents. I also was blessed to have my paternal grandparents around into my adult life as well. Most of my friends growing up only had one or two of their grandparents in their lives. I am so happy I had mine.

My dad's parents lived close by when I was growing up. My grandparents were retired since long before I was born so they had a lot of time on their hands. We spent a lot of time at their house or at least looking back it feels like a lot of time. They loved their family. They loved to have a bunch of relatives over for cookouts and get together's. My brother and I learned to fish with my dad and my grandpa. My grandma took me shopping. They took us to the fair and the park. They came to Grandparent's Day events at school. They were great. I had an unexplainable bond with my Grandma. I don't quite understand it, but I will always be grateful for her. I learned a lot from my grandmother, even if it was sometimes about how not to treat people. My grandfather passed away when I was 23. My grandmother passed away last fall. They are missed often.

My mom's parents lived a little farther away, but still close enough that we saw them regularly. My grandfather was a farmer and a cattle rancher. My grandmother was
a school secretary. They have worked hard for most of their lives. I remember going to the farm during different times of the year and watching the crops grow. I got to ride in the combine. I also got to help my grandma take meals to the field. I admire their hard work. I see the hardships they went through as farmers. They took what they had and they made sure their kids had what they needed. They scrimped and saved to provide for their family. Their lives were not easy, but they persevered. They love God, they love their family and they love their country. The toughed out the hardships together. They came to visit for all the important events in our lives. They came for our baptisms. They showed us we were important even though they were busy and had a lot going on in their lives.

Not only am I blessed to have known my four grandparents related by blood, but I have had the honor of knowing two of Popeye's grandparents. Popeye's grandfather was ill when I met him. He was living with my in-laws. I didn't know him well, but I enjoyed him. He was happy to be with his loved ones. He loved his kids and his grandkids. He laughed easily with them, he had fun and made jokes. He was thrilled to meet his first great grandson. Before Little Bear was born he sent us what is possibly the ugliest stuffed animal I have ever seen. It was a splotchy rainbow colored creature, but we loved it because he got it for Little Bear. He passed away about 18 months after Popeye and I were married.

I am also blessed to have Popeye's maternal grandmother in my life. She has adopted me as her own. I love her dearly. She is a talker like me. We get along fabulously. We laugh together regularly. She is one of a kind. She would give up anything to help her loved ones. She is generous and loving. She brings joy to our lives. I am so glad I can call her my Grandma now, too.

Then, I have more grandparents that are grandparents by choice. These are the elderly people I got to know through church. If you count all my grandparents by choice I have more sets of grandparents than any woman deserves. These people helped to mold me and make me the woman I am today. They have all been through struggles in life and gotten through them with a shining example. Some of these men and women have gone home to be with our Lord. I am truly grateful for the love and encouragement they shared with me.

The title of this post is "Blessed" for a reason. I am blessed beyond measure. Many people go their entire lives without a grandparent of any kind in their lives. I am grateful that I grew up with four grandparents, by blood, to guide me and encourage me, to be there when I fell to hold me when I cried, to laugh with me in good times, and help me laugh in bad times. I am thankful for my grandparents by marriage, they have blessed me more than they can imagine in the short years they have been part of my life. The blessing of grandparents by choice is a special one. They loved me enough to chose me to be in their lives. That's truly amazing. I am so thankful to have a life filled with the blessings of grandparents.

Transported Back in Time

My Grandparents on their wedding day in 1946

Today as we were driving down the road, Popeye put on the 40's station. I rarely listen to the Big Band Classics from the 40's, but when I do, I am always transported back in time. No, not to the 1940's, to the 1990's.

In those days, my grandparents had a wonderful screened in porch at their house. We spent a lot of time sitting out there talking, reading, playing, and just relaxing. The town they lived in had an AM radio station that played a lot of music from the 1940's. My grandma would turn his old radio on and the music would transport my Grandma and Grandpa back in time, to the years after the war, to their younger days.

Sometimes they would take my brother and me on their journey through time. Grandma and Grandpa would talk about the good ole days. They would talk about when they were young; the day they met and when they got married. I loved to listen to the history, to their life stories. I wish I would have written more things down. I wish I could have recorded each memory they spoke of.

These times were special for more than the memories they shared with us, Grandma and Grandpa would dance. They danced together and then they danced with us. I remember as a little girl standing on my Grandpa's shoes dancing, whirling around the screened porch, and feeling just like the belle of the ball. As an older child, in middle school or so, I still loved these rare moments where we danced. I am not a dancer and have never been a fan, but the moments of dancing with my grandfather were special. No one cared that I had no rhythm or that I repeatedly stepped on his toes. I felt like a cherished princess in these moments.

I appreciate the moments when I am brought back and can feel the closeness of these sweet moments. The music brings me back to days gone by and a short walk down memory lane with both my memories and theirs.

We Will Meet Again Someday

Eight months ago my Grandma went to the hospital for shortness of breath. They said her heart was failing and there was nothing they could do. She was dying and my heart was breaking. My life was a hectic mess at the time and due to extenuating circumstances, I couldn't go home to see her.

She was in the hospital for five days. The time came where we knew we needed to say goodbye. Thank goodness for modern technology. My parents were at the hospital with her and my mom had her iPhone so Little Bear and I got to FaceTime with her.

My Grandma was not good with technology. She was always amazed by videos and pictures on people's phones. She was even more amazed by live videos. We could talk to her and see her and she could see us just as we were.

Grandma talked about all kinds of things. She was on a roll that day. Everyone had come to visit her. She had gotten to see some of her kids, some of her grandkids, and some of her great-grandkids that day, and she got to FaceTime with us. She was happy. For someone in the hospital, she was extremely joyful. You could tell she didn't feel great, but she was happy. Her loved ones had gathered around her as best as they could over the last few days.

My Grandma, she knew where she was going when she was done in this world. She was going home, to heaven. She was going to be with her Lord and Savior, and her beloved husband. She was at peace with the world.

As we talked, I knew she was ready to go and it would not be long now and I knew she knew it, too. The whole conversation I laughed and talked with her, but as soon as it ended the tears came. Less than two days later, my Grandma had left this world. Heaven had gained an angel that day. Papa Bear and I celebrated her life at the beach that day. She loved the beach. We found some great shells that day. She would have been thrilled with my treasures.

I miss her always. I find myself tearing up more often than I would like to admit. I cannot begin to tell you how many times I have picked up the phone to call her only to realize that it is not possible. While I miss her I know she is in a better place and we will meet again someday, but that does not stop me from longing to talk to her again here on earth.

Weird Relish Mustard and Bad Beans

Growing up my Grandparents lived on the river. Their house was across the street, but they owned property on the river, too. On the river, they had a neat little patio type area where they grilled and sat to watch the water. During the summer months, they loved to have weenie roasts. We would play horse shoes, swim, boat, and run around. Grandpa would grill hotdogs.

The sides at these weenie roasts varied widely, as did the toppings. Many times we had strange chips Grandma had gotten from her couponing or weird flavored beans. My least favorite part of this meal was always the pickle relish premixed with mustard all in a squeeze bottle. I don't know whose bright idea it was to make such a condiment, but I was not a fan and Grandma loved it and always encouraged that we use it. We rarely had normal buns. Sometimes we had the extra long weenies and when we did we would have short buns. Most of the time we had some kind of potato buns. I am pretty sure Grandma bought them on sale often.

One of the most memorable hot dog meals was when my brother and I were in high school. I was driving by then, so I was at least 16-17 and my brother is 2 years younger. Grandma and Grandpa insisted that we invite friends. So we invited a friend that had met them on numerous occasions. It was during the heat of summer so we swam and played in the river. We dove off the dock and went out on the paddle boat. Then, Grandma called us to the table.

We dried off and went up the steps to the table and the grill. She had some strange flavor of canned beans that day. They were an awful flavor, one that is no longer for sale. We all took the smallest spoonful possible for politeness sake. There were Lays Potato Chips that day too. Grandma hovered over us with the pot of beans as we sat down to eat. She asked repeatedly if we wanted more beans. We all answered, "No thank you." Then, our poor friend, she asked so many times he finally said yes after the tenth or fifteenth time. So she gave him probably half the can of beans or more. He politely sat and choked down as much as he could, until she got up and went to the house for something she forgot. When she did that he fed them to the fishes.

I love these weenie roasts and miss the days of good hot dogs, weird sides, and family time. The laughs then and now are worth the weird relish mustard and bad beans.

Fortuitous Meeting

Thanksgiving Visit

Growing up we went to my Grandparent's house quite a bit. They lived about 30 minutes away from us. When my parents had stuff to do on the weekend my brother and I would go visit them. I could not imagine trying to count how many times we went to their house in a year, much less in my childhood; yet I can only remember a small handful of times they came to see us.

When I was in kindergarten my Grandparent's came for Thanksgiving with a bunch of the extended family. When my brother and I got baptized they came for that. The next time I remember them coming I was a somewhere around 5th grade.

The Day My Brother & I Got Baptized

My brother and I had spent the weekend with my Grandparents and they took us home that Sunday morning and stayed for church. We were sitting together. Grandpa was on the end of the pew, by the center aisle, and I was next to him. On the other side of me was Grandma. We made it all the way through church... Well, most of the way through church. The hymn of invitation began and we were standing there singing when an older woman walks down the aisle and out the door. My Grandpa got up and followed her. My Grandma didn't notice, right away, and I was standing there a little stunned not quite knowing what to say. Grandma noticed after a verse or so that I was quieter than normal and Grandpa was missing. She nudged me and asked where he went and I told her he got up and walked out the doors. So, we stayed and waited for church to end, assuming he went to the men's room or needed some air.

After church we found him and asked where he went. It turns out the lady that walked out just before him was his step-sister. That's right, his step-sister... and he had no idea she went to our church. He had not talked to her in years. I didn't even know he had a step-sister until then. My Grandma was not thrilled. At one point my Great-Step-Aunt and her family had lived with my Grandparents and it did not go well.

That day was the beginning of a lovely relationship with this unknown relative. I love her dearly. I only had two years with her, but what a blessing those years were and all because of an accidental meeting on one of the rare occasions my Grandparents took us home. Thank God for that fortuitous meeting.

Memories are Gifts that Keep on Giving

The gift of giving is one I have always gotten great joy from. My Grandma always loved giving gifts too, but she was terrible at picking out gifts. She was also a re-gifter and a clean out my closets and pantry kind of gifter. Every time we went to her house she would try to send us home with at least one plastic grocery bag of stuff, always junk no one in their right mind would want.

She used to coupon, and I don't mean the kind of couponing where you find coupons for things you use or things you want; I meant the kind of couponing where you clip EVERY coupon in the circular and buy everything you can find at the grocery store. This meant she bought every new strange flavored chip, cookie, cracker, cereal, salad dressing, and more that she could find. She would open the box and taste these new products and decide they were awful and put them back in her pantry. Then, when company came, usually my family, she would go through the pantry with grocery bags and send her open boxes of random junk home with us, where my mother would promptly throw them all away.

She didn't just buy weird grocery stuff. She bought all kinds of other weird junk, that then found other homes. When I was in college I took a guy I was dating to their house. When we arrived she did her normal going through everything to find something to give us. Well, the poor guy I was dating left with an umbrella hat. Yup, you did read that right, an umbrella hat. It was always something and usually something off the wall.

I got some terrible birthday and Christmas gifts, too. As a fourth grader my Grandma gave me a shirt for my birthday. She always gave a toy or book and some kind of clothes. This year the shirt was awful... I mean absolutely horrendous. It was the ugliest shirt I have seen in all my life. It was maroon, purple, goldenrod, a little green, and ugly. The shirt was long sleeves with a ruffle at each of the sleeves and along the bottom hem. One sleeve was purple and goldenrod vertical stripes. The other sleeve was purple with goldenrod and green polka dots. The front of the shirt was an atrocious floral pattern with huge roses maroon roses on an odd purple background. The ruffles were all horizontal stripes. Then the back of the shirt was a plaid type pattern with all the ugly colors. I hated that shirt. The fabric was scratchy on top of being ugly. I hid it in the back of my closet for a while. Almost every time I saw my Grandma for almost two years she asked about that shirt and why I didn't wear it to her house and I lied... I always told her it was in the dirty clothes because I had worn it recently.  About six months or so in I threw the ugly shirt away. It was too ugly to even feel good about putting in our giveaway bag. I finally after almost two years told Grandma I had outgrown it so she would quit asking.

Then, when I was in sixth grade my Grandma got me Sesame Street birthday blowers; you know, the kind you find at little kid's birthday parties that you blow and they make a noise and the rolled up paper unfurls. It was hard to put on a happy smile when I opened that Christmas gift. I remember being thoroughly disappointed with it, but now it is one of my fondest memories. She was excited about them. She loved to give people things.
In her later years of life, she really missed the joy of sending us home with stuff. When she was in assisted living she did not drive and could not cart boatloads of stuff home on the bus that took them to Walmart so she had to reign in her shopping. When we would leave from our visits she would say, in a disheartened voice, "I'm sorry I don't have anything to give you." You gave us enough, Grandma, enough love and memories to last for lifetimes. Memories are gifts that keep on giving.

Even If She Was Not Always Nice

All my life my Grandma had a couple of things that really bothered her... and by bothered her I really mean she hated them and was not at all nice about them. One of these things was fatness. Yup, you read that right. She hated when people were fat.

As a kid we would go to my Grandparent's house and she would ask me if I was getting fat. Mind you I was never a big kid. I was always pretty skinny. One of the funniest things was she would ask me if I was getting fat and then she would say things like "Do you want a Snickers?" For someone who hated people getting fat they always had plenty of junk food around and always tried to force it upon everyone even when we politely said "No, thank you."

After I had gained weight

As a young adult I gained lots of weight. My Grandma made sure to comment on it regularly. She didn't care if it hurt my feelings; she thought telling me was helpful and would change the fact that I was fat. When I got gastroparesis and lost a bunch of weight my Grandma was thrilled. She didn't really understand how sick I was. I lived across the country by then.

While my Grandma lived in assisted living she always complained about what she called "the fat butts." They took up extra space, their chairs stuck out into the walkways in the dining room. I tried to explain that it wasn't nice to call people fat butts. She told me she could say what she wanted because it was true, they did have fat butts. She tried to convince "the fat butts" that they should walk with her daily so they could lose weight.

The first time Grandma saw me after I lost we

Last fall my Grandma was in the hospital dying, I unfortunately could not go home to see her. Thanks to modern technology, my son and I did have an opportunity to FaceTime with her in the hospital. We talked about how much she loved us and how much we love her. We talked about life and death. She told me she was ready to "go home" to her heavenly home. The whole time my heart ached knowing this would be my last conversation with her. I was on the verge of tears and then in good old Grandma fashion... she says "You haven't gotten fat again, have you?" In a slightly exasperated voice I said "No, Grandma" and had my son hold up the phone so she could see me from head to toe. Then, she asked if my son was fat and made me show him to her from head to toe. She was thrilled that neither of us had gotten fat. I was glad that even with death at her door she had not changed... even if she was not always nice.

From "Amazing Grace" to "99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall"

The other day I found myself singing in the shower, if you know me you know that this is a rare thing. I am not a singer. The song I chose to sing was an old one; "99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall." Who doesn't love that? I haven't sung it in years and it reminded me of days gone by.

When I was a kid my Grandparents lived on the river. Their street wasn't too busy and they knew almost everyone. My Grandma loved to go for walks. We walked that road thousands of times over the years, from their house to the old cemetery. We would talk while we walked, about life, about family, about anything and everything, and we would sing.

My Grandma loved music. She played piano by ear and was pretty good at it and she sang pretty well for an old lady. We sang anything my Grandma and Grandpa could think of. We sang things varying from "Amazing Grace" to "99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall." It would all flow right together. The way it usually worked was Grandma picked a song and then Grandpa picked the next... It made for some interesting combinations. Much to Grandma's dismay, when my brother or I got to pick we usually picked one of Grandpa's songs. Our favorite song went like this:

The first marine went over the top, parlez vous.

The second marine went over the top, parelz vous.

The third marine stayed behind,

Kissed the girls and drank the wine.

Inky Dinky parlez vous.

My Grandpa says they sang it during World War II. My brother and I loved it. Over the years I have heard many versions of this, but never the one we sang.

As I said earlier, my Grandma had musical talent. My brother has a decent amount of musical talent. My Grandpa not so much and then you have me... I have NO musical skills. I have just enough that I can tell that I am off key and I can't carry a tune in a bucket. For a while my Grandma just let me sing. I was little and she thought I would grow out of it. Sadly, I never grew out of it. As I got older my Grandma got more vocal about my skills, or lack thereof. She made rude comments about how I couldn't sing and how I needed to learn. She tried and tried to teach me to carry a tune, but alas... we finally both gave up. We were discouraged. I was tired of her being mean to me because I couldn't sing and she was tired of me stinking at it so badly.

We still went on walks, we just had to talk more or walk in silence. When they moved we all missed our walks there. I have many fond memories of our walks along the road and wandering the old cemetery.

A few years ago, my Grandma called me and says "I'm sorry." I was confused and asked what she was sorry for. She responded with "I'm sorry for being mean to you about your singing and making you quit singing as a kid." It was rare for my Grandma to apologize for anything and while I appreciated her apology I found it to be hilarious that she apologized for something that had happened almost 20 years ago.

I sure miss those days. The walks and the singing.... even if I still can't carry a tune in a bucket.  

Off to Kmart We Went, My Grandma and I

When I was young my Grandma always wanted to take me shopping. She always took me to Kmart. Even though it was old and sort of run down, and frankly pretty shabby,  it was her happy place. We went for clothes, we went for shoes, we went for purses, toys, play make up; you name it, she bought it at Kmart, or tried to. We had a Walmart and it was closer, but she went to Kmart and that's where she sent my Grandpa for his shopping.

When I was in elementary school, probably a 4th or 5th grader, Grandpa needed new shoes. The old ones were ratty and not so easy on the eyes. Grandpa went and bought his shoes; shopping went much more quickly when he went by himself. Well, he paid for them and decided to wear them home. Later, when he planned to do some yard work, he began to look for his well worn shoes, and they were nowhere to be found. That's when he realized that he had tried his new shoes on and put the old ones in the box to bring home, but, alas, he left them, in the box, on the shelf at Kmart, paid for his new shoes, and came home empty handed. He was so embarrassed, but Grandpa insisted that he must have those shabby shoes back. He needed them for yard work. He, also, insisted that he would not be the one to go back and retrieve them.

So... off to Kmart we went, my Grandma and I. We walked into Kmart and marched to the back where the shoes were. When we got back there she loudly announced to the man working back there, and anyone else within earshot, that my Grandpa left his ratty old shoes there in a box and we were there to retrieve them. The man looked at us a little oddly as we searched all the boxes to find them. We finally found them and took home our prize. My Grandpa wore those ugly old shoes for ages. I am pretty sure he liked them more than the new shoes.

It was a sad day for my Grandma when Kmart closed and she had to start going to Walmart.... but she adapted and learned to love Walmart, too.