My Grandma Your Grandma
in a land far far away ............
isn't that how it all starts. that is the popular way to begin any good book anyone wants to write be it for a tv show or a movie or just a good winters night read.
what happened to writing from the heart?
telling it like it is or saying what your feeling right now?
putting it all down for self or future?
oh yea its called a diary... a journal. shades of talking to self on paper. oops could it be therapy?
am i rambling again? or just venting? using up space boring anyone who is reading ?
ok all that set aside.
time for a grand boring adventure LOL
last week end i had the kids ....... got to love the times i have with them as i know eventually and as time rushes into the future there will come a time when they will move on and our times well become memories to warm a cold lonely night with .
sounds like wood on a fire dont it ?
i had layed in a lot of fruit for the event ,want them to get in alot of oranges and stuff to ward off colds. and wanted to make sure were not just laying around doing nothing so to speek.
it all has to be quality time . time well spent. kodak moments making memories moments . those future logs of warmth looking back kind of times .
we went shopping and bought alot of things to keep our selves busy jig saw puzzles and fish and we went looking around every where we didnt just sit home we went to the malls both of them off to dinner out . costco, freds ,joanns, supper bear, in fact one day i remarked we had been driving around for three hours just going from one place to the next LOL we looked through knitting books and mandy planned out some hats for me to knit. timmy planned out some games to play on x box, jig saw puzzles to do. and a possible list of things to do to clean my truck.
awe but for me it wasnt always this way......
and here it goes............
i remember a time long long ago in another life so it seems when i was but a kid following my own grandmother around. like a lost little puppy with nothing to do.
every wrinkle on her face to me was beautful and told a story and kept me in awe of her long lived life.
she worn a skirt all the time one that came down below her knees and a long sleeve shirt and a beautiful wool sweater over all that with long off white knit stockings and she kept a scarf over her snow white hair which she kept short. very rarely did she ever wear pants.
my grams would get up early each morning and begin her day the same way. with out varying it one bit so i remember.
or was that routine strictly for me?
at the age of 80 years young she would get up and stoke the log fire in her indoors cast iron cooking stove which of course was black with age . well seasoned with use and time.
and then set about to get her water boiled after she had gone to the nearest stream to fetch it in a metal bucket she hoisted onto the stove. once it was warm enough she would put her deterants and bleach in the bucket and take out a small natural bristled scrub brush and get on her hands and knees and scrub the floors of her two room cabin.
breakfast done i would arrive about then. and the two of us would take off. grams didnt say much to me i just followed along .
the summer mornings would find us down at the beach saying hi to grandpa who had been out in his boat earlier and had brought in what ever his catch for the day was. be it fish seal or crab or maybe even a halibut. we would greet him take his catch fill up his meal buckets and coffee thermus and wave good bye as he rowed away again to go gather more of what was needed to help make it through a long cold winter.
grams would skin the seals and stretch the hide or clean the fish and get those ready for smoking or what ever else needed to be done to begin the process of perserving the food items grandpa brought home .
we would then go to the smoke house and spend the rest of the am working on getting things either ready to be smoked and hung right or making sure the fish or meat in the smoke house was turned right and the fire wood was cut and stacked ready for use. and she would make sure the fire was set right.
those mornings along the beaches were awesome beautiful full of life and so full of the sounds of nature. that sometimes even today i can smell and hear them coming out of the past so long ago full of the original breath takingly beauty they held.
once grams was sure all was done we hiked back to her cabin and she would sit on the floor of her bedroom and take out her mococcin making supplies from her steamer trunk and we would sit for a long time while she hummed softly to me and herself and she would bead her moccosin tops and sew what she had for that day to do.
later on when she got as much done as she wanted we would go to her kitchen area and she would turn the coggles she had hanging by the stove to dry or she would make sure the special fish she was softening for my dad was going along as planned.
a proper lunch of fish stew or clam chower with pilot bread crackers and we were off again for the rest of the day until it was time to hand me back to my mom who was busy working in the cannery.
buckets in hand it was time to brave the forrest and gather berries and hudson bay tea. or go out in a row boat with grandpa and gather seaweed or other items
my days ended long after grams days. because once home i had alot of things to do myself and as i grew those lists got longer.
but when i was so small and i needed grams care ...my days eneded with me sitting on the edge of the bridge that spanned the tiny but loud river outside our three room cabin. dangling my feet over the edge enjoying a dunginess crab fest or some other such sea food dish. taking in all the beauty of nature that was before me .
i loved my grams, honored her and respected her all i could at any age i was in life . she had vast knowlege of things i had none in and to me that was awesome. i leaned tons from her even though our words togeather were very few and far between.
and i miss her often when i happen to think back to being a kid one time long long ago in what to me and modern times seems like a land far far way.
in a land far far away ............
isn't that how it all starts. that is the popular way to begin any good book anyone wants to write be it for a tv show or a movie or just a good winters night read.
what happened to writing from the heart?
telling it like it is or saying what your feeling right now?
putting it all down for self or future?
oh yea its called a diary... a journal. shades of talking to self on paper. oops could it be therapy?
am i rambling again? or just venting? using up space boring anyone who is reading ?
ok all that set aside.
time for a grand boring adventure LOL
last week end i had the kids ....... got to love the times i have with them as i know eventually and as time rushes into the future there will come a time when they will move on and our times well become memories to warm a cold lonely night with .
sounds like wood on a fire dont it ?
i had layed in a lot of fruit for the event ,want them to get in alot of oranges and stuff to ward off colds. and wanted to make sure were not just laying around doing nothing so to speek.
it all has to be quality time . time well spent. kodak moments making memories moments . those future logs of warmth looking back kind of times .
we went shopping and bought alot of things to keep our selves busy jig saw puzzles and fish and we went looking around every where we didnt just sit home we went to the malls both of them off to dinner out . costco, freds ,joanns, supper bear, in fact one day i remarked we had been driving around for three hours just going from one place to the next LOL we looked through knitting books and mandy planned out some hats for me to knit. timmy planned out some games to play on x box, jig saw puzzles to do. and a possible list of things to do to clean my truck.
awe but for me it wasnt always this way......
and here it goes............
i remember a time long long ago in another life so it seems when i was but a kid following my own grandmother around. like a lost little puppy with nothing to do.
every wrinkle on her face to me was beautful and told a story and kept me in awe of her long lived life.
she worn a skirt all the time one that came down below her knees and a long sleeve shirt and a beautiful wool sweater over all that with long off white knit stockings and she kept a scarf over her snow white hair which she kept short. very rarely did she ever wear pants.
my grams would get up early each morning and begin her day the same way. with out varying it one bit so i remember.
or was that routine strictly for me?
at the age of 80 years young she would get up and stoke the log fire in her indoors cast iron cooking stove which of course was black with age . well seasoned with use and time.
and then set about to get her water boiled after she had gone to the nearest stream to fetch it in a metal bucket she hoisted onto the stove. once it was warm enough she would put her deterants and bleach in the bucket and take out a small natural bristled scrub brush and get on her hands and knees and scrub the floors of her two room cabin.
breakfast done i would arrive about then. and the two of us would take off. grams didnt say much to me i just followed along .
the summer mornings would find us down at the beach saying hi to grandpa who had been out in his boat earlier and had brought in what ever his catch for the day was. be it fish seal or crab or maybe even a halibut. we would greet him take his catch fill up his meal buckets and coffee thermus and wave good bye as he rowed away again to go gather more of what was needed to help make it through a long cold winter.
grams would skin the seals and stretch the hide or clean the fish and get those ready for smoking or what ever else needed to be done to begin the process of perserving the food items grandpa brought home .
we would then go to the smoke house and spend the rest of the am working on getting things either ready to be smoked and hung right or making sure the fish or meat in the smoke house was turned right and the fire wood was cut and stacked ready for use. and she would make sure the fire was set right.
those mornings along the beaches were awesome beautiful full of life and so full of the sounds of nature. that sometimes even today i can smell and hear them coming out of the past so long ago full of the original breath takingly beauty they held.
once grams was sure all was done we hiked back to her cabin and she would sit on the floor of her bedroom and take out her mococcin making supplies from her steamer trunk and we would sit for a long time while she hummed softly to me and herself and she would bead her moccosin tops and sew what she had for that day to do.
later on when she got as much done as she wanted we would go to her kitchen area and she would turn the coggles she had hanging by the stove to dry or she would make sure the special fish she was softening for my dad was going along as planned.
a proper lunch of fish stew or clam chower with pilot bread crackers and we were off again for the rest of the day until it was time to hand me back to my mom who was busy working in the cannery.
buckets in hand it was time to brave the forrest and gather berries and hudson bay tea. or go out in a row boat with grandpa and gather seaweed or other items
my days ended long after grams days. because once home i had alot of things to do myself and as i grew those lists got longer.
but when i was so small and i needed grams care ...my days eneded with me sitting on the edge of the bridge that spanned the tiny but loud river outside our three room cabin. dangling my feet over the edge enjoying a dunginess crab fest or some other such sea food dish. taking in all the beauty of nature that was before me .
i loved my grams, honored her and respected her all i could at any age i was in life . she had vast knowlege of things i had none in and to me that was awesome. i leaned tons from her even though our words togeather were very few and far between.
and i miss her often when i happen to think back to being a kid one time long long ago in what to me and modern times seems like a land far far way.
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