Quick Before I Get Sidetrack'd

As I was writing the posts last week about our trip to Granny and Papa’s house, memories kept surfacing of the times we’ve spent there.

The memories for Matt go back to the beginning.  He remembers when the land was just that, land, filled with trees and potential.  He remembers the steps along the way to completing the house and Granny and Papa making the move out there.  He has fond childhood memories of summer visits, playing in the creek, fishing in the pond, and walking in the woods.  He always said he wished he could spend the whole summer at Granny and Papa’s instead of only a week.

There are also lots of memories that we’ve made there together.  My first visit was just over 10 years ago.  Matt and I had only been dating a few months, and he took me to meet his grandparents while we were in town for Spring Break from college.  I fell in love with his grandparents and their place immediately and am very thankful that I’m still visiting a decade later and have so many good times to reflect on.

This was the place we were married.  In the kitchen we ate chicken salad sandwiches as we waited for time for the ceremony.  In Granny’s huge garden we were photographed with our families.  Under a rose arbor we pledged our love for each other as we said our vows.

This was the place we made our first home.  The first two months of our married life we lived in the little house on Granny and Papa’s property (originally built for Matt’s great-grandmother).  We would come home in the evenings to find fresh picked tomatoes sitting on our back porch railing; we would go into the garden to pick corn from the stalk and blueberries straight from the bush.  We would go down the driveway every Thursday evening to sit on the screened porch and chat.  It was a special season in our life for many reasons, not the least of which was Matt finally getting to spend the whole summer at Granny and Papa’s house.

And now we have memories there with our children.  Little standing beside the Christmas tree.  A trip to play in the creek with her Daddy.  Boo in Papa’s lap.  Granny and Papa loving our children like they’ve always loved Matt.

I am thankful for all the memories we’ve created on the farm and especially with Granny and Papa.  It is sad to see it go, but it will always hold a special place in our hearts.

Isn’t that title just so clever? I’m suffering a bit from worn out, ready to have this baby creativity block.

So, what is special about April 7th? In my life it is the celebration of my brother.

I am blessed to have a wonderful older brother, and, although, we are not as close in distance or relationship at this point as I would like (or as we’ve been at other times in our lives), I am happy to say he is also my friend.

And in honor of his birthday, I’m going to tell a couple of stories on myself that I think are amusing…

J’s big hobby in elementary school age and into early middle school was building model cars, airplanes, and boats. He could often be found hard at work on the bar in our basement gluing pieces together, painting the finished work, and applying decals and stickers. He worked all shapes, sizes, and types of models.

Once, when I was probably six or seven years old (possibly a bit younger), J and Daddy were working on a huge model pirate ship. If I remember correctly, it was probably a couple feet long and was amazingly detailed with fabric sails, oars and guns coming from the lower decks, and the whole pirate-y bit. They had put a ton of time and effort into this ship and were probably 90%-100% finished when “the incident” occurred.

For whatever reason, J had set the ship on the basement floor and left it there to get something from upstairs while I was still playing downstairs. I was being a typical girl and doing gymnastics or something on the furniture and was hanging upside down in Daddy’s recliner watching something on TV. I’m not sure exactly what happened, or how it happened, but the next thing I knew I was sliding off the recliner and directly on top of the pirate ship. I remember a crunching sound, the sound of J running down the stairs, and my crying as he yelled.

The ship had attained damage of the hit-by-several-cannonballs type and was totally destroyed. It was an accident, but that didn’t make it any better in the eyes of my 11-ish year old brother who had worked so hard to build that pirate ship.

And then there was the time when I was about three and I flushed J’s pet fish down the toilet. The fish lived in a bowl on our kitchen island. Apparently it was sleeping, but it looked dead to my preschool eyes. I took it to the bathroom, dumped it, and flushed. It started swimming down the drain. Oops!

It’s a wonder he still likes me. Happy birthday, brother!

This time of year brings out the cook or baker in many of us. I enjoy cooking throughout the year (time permitting), but there is something about baking at Christmastime that is special. It is fun to pull out those special recipes that only see the light of day during the holiday season.

I have childhood (and teenage, and college age) memories of making Christmas goodies with my mom. We would drag out all the ingredients, and just about every mixing bowl and spoon in the kitchen, and set up shop at the kitchen table. When I was young we baked cookies and made candy, but as time progressed we moved away from baking and more into candy. There was always fudge for the fridge (2 pans – with pecans for dad & mom and without for my brother & me), and usually some combination of butterscotch haystacks, chocolate and peppermint “bark”, and white and milk chocolate covered pretzels. Other things came and went depending on the year, but these were the usual suspects. I continued to make chocolate chip cookies, and we made the occasional snickerdoodle or sugar cookie.

My own Christmas cooking focuses more on baked goods, although I might make some refrigerator fudge this year. During last week I’ve made two batches of chocolate chip cookies, two loaves of homemade bread (I make this year round), and two batches of Chex Mix. This weekend will see two recipes of homemade biscuits and, possibly, the first of the cranberry bread. The next couple of weeks should produce several batches of cranberry bread, a pound cake with caramel icing, and, hopefully, some homemade cinnamon rolls. Oh, and untold quantities of homemade Chex Mix. Add in the things I’ll make for the Christmas party we’re hosting next Sunday and our own Christmas meals (hmm…guess I better think about what we’ll eat since we’ll be home this year), and I have quite a bit of cooking to do!

There is just something about the holidays that brings out the most flavorful side of me!

This week has been all about comfort foods; I’ve eaten mashed potatoes, homemade mac & cheese, and lots of M&M’s. In fact, I’ve probably ingested more carbs than a person should have in a month.

Earlier in the week I concocted a tuna-noodle casserole for my lunch. I recognize that a lot of people read that and think, “yuck!”, my husband is included in that group which is why I ate it for lunch. But for me, this is one of my favorite comfort foods, one of those foods that brings floods of childhood memories as I cook and eat it.

My Dad and brother don’t like tuna-noodle casserole either, so growing up Mom would make it sometimes when the guys were off camping or both happened to be away from home at dinner time. I always enjoyed it when we ate it at our house, but my most special memories are of eating it with my Ghina and Poppa.

Ghina knew how much I liked the casserole, so every few months when they had it for dinner the phone would ring with an invitation for me to join them. This was a special time because it was just me and my grandparents – no parents, no brother, no cousins – a table set for three.

Entering the house I was greeted by the sound of the timer on their old-fashioned toaster oven clicking away, the smell of the casserole baking, and the sight of Ghina preparing garlic bread to be toasted. I would hang out on the stool in the kitchen, or write on the chalkboard, or play with a few toys until the timer dinged and dinner was ready.

The three of us would take our seats at the table; a family table surrounded by pictures of my Mom and her siblings as children, by mementos of a life lived together for many years. Ghina dished out our dinner. Poppa opened the box of ground black pepper. Slices of garlic toast were passed. A meal was enjoyed.

After dinner was finished and the dishes washed, Ghina and I would sit at the kitchen table and play Chinese checkers. If I was lucky we could get in several games before I had to head home to get ready for bed and school the next day.

There were many, many dinners like this each consisting of a plate of tuna-noodle casserole, a slice of garlic bread, and a special time with my grandparents. Over the years the occurences have lost their individuality and melded into a composite in my mind. Such a special memory, and it all started with a pan of tuna-noodle casserole.

Mary at Owlhaven is hosting a blog carnival today challenging us to write about our childhood homes. If you are interested in playing along or if you would like to read about others’ memories of their childhood homes, click on the cute picture at the top of this post.

I lived in one house my entire childhood; I came home from the hospital to the house and, 22 years later, left when Matt and I married. My parents still live there.

Our house was a two story traditional style home. All of the living space was on the upper level (bedrooms, bathrooms, kitchen, etc), but we had a finished basement that served as a den/family room. The basement is the backdrop for many of my childhood and teenage memories – dancing with my brother to “Eye of the Tiger”, playing school with my baby dolls and stuffed animals, playing “house” with my cousins, hanging out with friends watching television and playing games. That room was (and still is) the center of much of our family activity.

There was always a pool in the backyard and it saw many pool parties, water fights, and strange and dangerous feats performed by teenage boys. I learned to swim there, and my brother fell through the ice one year “ice skating”.

And the Christmas memories, these are a big part of my childhood memories. We always had two Christmas trees in our house, one on each level, and each served a different purpose. The upstairs tree was our “formal” tree and presents that went to other people (extended family, friends, etc) went under that tree. Our downstairs tree was the family tree. It was always decorated with the “ornaments” that my brother and I made, paper chain garlands, colored lights, and lots of tinsel icicles. Coming down the stairs on Christmas morning to a tree brimming with gifts from Santa and parents and stockings hung by the chimney with care is the epitomy of childhood Christmas.

One of the great things about my childhood home was the proximity to our extended family. We lived within a few miles of both sets of my grandparents, several aunts and uncles, and a bevy of cousins. This allowed for numerous family get togethers and a childhood filled with the warmth and love of family. My cousins and brother were my best friends throughout my childhood.

My childhood home is filled with memories – the bad along with the good – but most of the the ones I hang onto are good. I hope Little has memories her childhood home as good as the ones that I have.