To all "Peckerheads",
I have started a blog to complete an assignment for my computer class. I would like to invite all my family to contribute any grampafish stories to share through this blog. Maybe one of us will get enough "ambition" to put our stories into a book. Who knows, we could become rich from these stories, well maybe not in the monetary sense, but rich in our memories of our "Grandpa fish". Ok, get off your bums and blog. Anita
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What a great idea to celebrate a great man! :] I have to be the 1st to write about bedtimes with Gramps...when I think about staying the night out there when we were little my memories burst with the smell of Ben Gay(is that what it was) and the LOUD sounds of the radio blaring and Gramps snoring! :] If there was more than one of us staying, one slept with Grandma and the other with Gramps. If you slept with Gramps in that tiny bed, you had snores all night long in your ear! :] Love him!
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ReplyDeleteI must agree with Andrea about the nighttime sleep rituals out at Gramps house. I never slept in his bed, but always with Gramma. What I remember the most was what I call the "crack monster". Their room was always icy cold and the crack between Gramma's bed and the wall was a constant blast of frigid air. But to offset that chill, Gramma's electric blanket must've been turned up to 1000 degrees because it was so hot it almost burned you! I finally found the perfect mix to sleep by was to dangle one leg in the "crack monster's" mouth while one was wrapped up in electric fire. And always, always, every time, my eyelids would droop into sleepy land the moment Gramma and I would clasp hands. Every time I ever slept with her we held hands to fall asleep - she always faced Gramps, would rest her hand somewhere within my reach, and wait for me to take it. All was eternally right with the world.
ReplyDeleteYears after Gramma was gone, us kids still spent many nights out at Gramps, but there were so many of us sometimes that we spilled out from the bedrooms and onto the floor in the livingroom. We would be a sprawling mess of tangled hair, arms and legs sticking out at awkward angles under sleeping bags and crocheted quilts. Dogs and kids and fleas and parents in piles all over the floor. Gramps would get up so stinkin' early, tiptoe over us, around us, fix the fire, make his coffee, sit, watch, listen, breathe us all in. And then he would smack us in the head with his cane and shout "Half the day's a-wasted! Time to get up!" And he would laugh and laugh and eat his toast - one slice for him, one for the dogs.