I don’t care that you’re busy. Your grandma misses you. Your grandpa misses you. And your “busy” self misses them just as much. But, you’re so caught up in pretending this year is your newest favorite series, filled with cute boys and dumb nights, that you’re now forgetting how much you laugh when you’re with them, and you can’t remember that special grandma’s house smell that takes every part of your brain back to memories of wild summers and magical holidays. The smell that brings back memories of strutting around the house in grandma’s plush boob fillers as you pretended to be Dolly Parton, and you both laughed so hard that you forget she was sick for a second. And then she got better and you could stop forgetting but keep laughing. That smell that makes you flashback to Opa handing you a red solo cup full of nickels for the slot machine downstairs as he’d say, “You can keep your winnings,” but instead, you just circled those lucky winning nickels back into that same red solo cup so that it'd never empty. The smell that reminds you of the moment you found out your grandparents neighbor (aka your childhood crush) has some serious vices and got taken away at a young age, forcing you to come to the realization that you’ve always had a thing for bad boys. Waking up to the smell of chocolate chip pancakes and bacon thicker than your post freshman 15 thighs. Telling your grandparents you’re not really hungry so they’d get worried and pretend every meal is thanksgiving on steroids. Spending too much time around your grandma only to head home and realize that you’ve developed a false sense of confidence thinking every guy who talks to you is flirting with you... because that waiter from dinner last night is not a potential husband, and the man behind the bakery counter was just asking for your ticket number.. not your phone number.
But there’s an entirely different smell a few hours south that reminds you of fairy princess tea parties underneath the old, hollow evergreen that were sponsored by Great Grandma Mum’s flowered tea set. The same smell that filled up the house after a Mr. Gingerbread Man cake conveniently escaped the oven during your mid-afternoon nap and left clues proclaiming “you’ll never catch me, I’m the gingerbread man…” but you always seemed to track him down and eat his gingerbread body in its entirety before the sun could set that night. The smell of dolling yourself up in fake perfume and costume jewelry before heading to the “friendly Mrs. Wolf’s” house for dinner at the ladybug table. The smell of Johnson’s baby soap filling up the tub underneath the red heat lamp in grandma’s upstairs guest bathroom while you sat bare-bummed on the tile floor playing with Sharkie. The smell of gasoline in the garage which fueled Papaw’s John Deer tractor rides that chauffeured the girl cousins to picnics in the meadow over the troll bridge. Hopping into grandma’s royal blue pickup truck that was headed to Green Gables for a plate of bacon and eggs but also several styrofoam containers of live bait for afternoon activities, and, of course, a quick game of pool without the poles. The smell of colored Sharpies marking your current and improved height with an uneven line and a fabulous signature on the closet wall. Filling emptied out peanut butter jars with lightning bugs on the Fourth of July... but poking holes into the lids so that it was not only beautiful but also humane. Spending hours on the dock with Papaw in 95 degree summer sun holding your Scooby Doo fishing rod in one hand and a Diet Rite in the other, catching plenty of Blue Gill only to throw them immediately back into Lake Bloomington the moment after Papaw removed the hook. Leaving for home with several gallon-sized Zip-lock baggies full of grandma’s famous chocolate chip and white chocolate, cherry, macadamia nut cookies that were bigger than your face. Papaw’s “special green medicine” that could cure anything from a headache to a sunburn to a wasp sting to kidney stones... but HAD to be refrigerated. Falling asleep to Scholastic Kids VHS tapes and waking up with little trinkets and story books next to your sleeping bags that were dropped off in the middle of the night by the garden fairies.
These trips to my grandparents helped me realize that my dad was even more perfect when he was growing up, and my mom had to deal with a whole list of unheard of shit from her three brothers.
Take the road trip, schedule the flight, walk on over for lemonade and cookies. Just go, because the truest truth is you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone. You’re never too busy for family, and God doesn’t save seats at his table for people who think they are. Your grandparents have lived entire lives that you will never otherwise be exposed to, so ask away. They want to relive it all.. the good, the bad, and the 70's.
What keeps you up at night?
Comments