Day 348: Kids remember funny things. I suppose they remember the things that are on their level. When I spent time at Grandma Vernie’s as a little girl, I remember thinking her house was humongous, especially the basement. There were two apartments down there, and a giant laundry room. They were probably normal-sized rooms, but I thought they were huge.
The exterior of her house was painted a pale pink. It must have been stucco? But it looked like it had been caught in the middle of two giants having a spit wad war. There were blobs the size of a fist stuck to the house. Was this a common trend? She was a classy lady, so I’m assuming it was a trend, but as a child, I couldn’t figure out the blobs.
The back of Grandma’s house had a large covered patio on one side of the back door, and elevated brick planters on the other side. There may have been other flowers planted there, but I was obsessed with the bleeding hearts—because they looked like hearts. Years later, a neighbor gave us a bleeding heart plant when my mother died, and it found its way to my garden, because it reminded me of Grandma’s back yard, and my mama.
My big brother Tim was helping me look for photos of the store, and when he sent this one, he told me that after the store had been remodeled, a photo shoot occurred. This photo he called “We all scream for ice cream.” That’s him up front, but out of all the things to see in that photo (the cousins, Grandma’s classy outfit and look of stress) he said “I don’t know why Mom always dressed me and Steve alike.” It makes sense, because he was on the same level as the ice cream and his matching brother.
That’s the great thing about memories. They’re ours. Sure, we may remember it differently than someone else, but it doesn’t matter, because that was the way it happened for us.
Today I’ll look around our house and try to see it from our grandchildren’s perspective, but, honestly, they might have to describe it for me from their level.
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