"What is it about grandparents that is so lovely? I'd like to say that grandparents are God's gifts to children. And if they can but see, hear and feel what these people have to give, they can mature at a fast rate. -Bill Cosby"
(For those of you avid followers looking forward to an exciting Africa post, I apologize. This one hits a little closer to home).
As I sit in Kenya in the evening writing this, back in Canada, my family is just getting up in the morning to move my grandparents out of the house I practically grew up in. Now, no offence to my old Fairfield Island house, but Grandma and Papa's house to me is the epitome of home.
Surrounded by five acres of trees in the depths of Ryder Lake lies Grandma and Papa's house. Built by Papa himself, the house is huge. The upstairs has 3 bedrooms, 2.5 bathrooms, a living room, a dining room, a family room, a kitchen and a spare room. The downstairs has a pool room/library, a pingpong room, 2 bedrooms, a bathroom, a huge storage room, and a shop. The house is set back from the road, and sits atop a hill. There is a great yard, and then trees sloping down and around the hill. It's common in the summer to see families of deer wandering the yard! (Perhaps I should consider a future in writing real estate ads?)
At least half of the happiest memories I have from my childhood happened at Grandma and Papa's house. Every Christmas and Easter dinner took place there surrounded by the most amazing family in the world. Birthdays, school holidays, special occasions, they all took place up on the hill. My heart and head are being flooded with so many happy memories, I can't even begin to think of how I'd put them into words: family reunions, summer picnics on the front lawn, building forts in the trees, walking to get the mail and stopping to pick periwinkles in the summer, sledding down the hill in the winter, it's impossible to list all the things that went on in that house.
Christmas was ALWAYS at Grandma and Papa's house. Nothing in the world was better than singing carols around the tree on Christmas Eve. Papa would play an old Mitch Miller cassette of songs, and everyone would gripe and complain about how horrible it was, and then join in the tradition of the ever-cheesy family sing-along. Then it was laying milk and cookies on the mantle before heading off to bed and waiting for Santa to come. In the morning, Papa would make scrambled eggs and bacon for the whole family on the wood stove, while us kids were going crazy not being allowed in to the living room to see the tree until EVERYONE finised breakfast! After the mountain of presents were opened, it was homemade macaroni and cheese for lunch. A few hours later would be turkey dinner, with the dining room table often streching almost to the far wall across the living room, as dinner often included more than 25 people. After dinner was board games, which always ended up in a few raised voices, but even more laughs.
As great as Christmas was, it's almost the little things I rememeber more fondly. I can remember sleeping over on the weekends when I was little (a very regular occurence) and loving waking up in the morning because it meant we could go sniggle in with Grandma in her bed. Papa would bring us tea, and we would cuddle, and point to the wrinkles on Grandma's face. She told us she had a story for each wrinkle, and it always seemed to be true. Stories about when we were babies, about when our mom and aunts and uncles were little, no matter how many times we asked, she'd always come up with a story for us.
And the tea. If there was ever a "Tea Granny", it would be my Grandma. Tea before breakfast, tea in the middle morning, tea after lunch, tea late afternoon, tea after dinner, and tea before bed. And of course, Papa would always make it, with the greatest happiness. The man has infinite talents, but taking the most amazing care of his girls certainly seems to be the top of the list. Grandma has always told me never to settle for a man that doesn't treat me as well as Papa treats her, and while it's a nearly impossibly high standard, I know she's right. My grandparents have been happily married for 62 years, and I've never met two more amazing people in my entire life. My Grandma was acutally a preschool teacher, and the year I was in 4-year-old preschool was her last year teaching. My class was the last she ever taught, and as a retirement gift, we bought her a maple tree, which, after a few years in a wooden pot, got planted in the middle of her front yard. On my last day in Canada before heading to this side of the world, I went for dinner and Grandma and Papa's, knowing it was the last time I'd be in that house. As I cuddled on the couch with Grandma before I left, I glanced out and saw the tree. It kind of stuck me as kind of symbolic. It grew as we grew. Now it's a full grown tree, just as my preschool friends and I are now grown. I guess that's the way life goes. Trees grow, we grow, people change, we move houses, and countries, and still the world keeps turning.
Still, it's hard not to be home today. Writing this post brought back memories I hadn't though about in years. I've been smiling through my tears, thinking about the great times I've had there. They say home is where the heart is, and today, my heart is in a house in Ryder Lake, surrounded by my incredible family, laughing and loving and, of course, drinking tea.-Delaney
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