I miss being a grandkid....

      I was watching an episode of "Farmhouse Rules" I had recorded on my DVR, and I found myself in tears. That is not usually the response one expects from watching a Food Network television show. While Nancy Fuller was making cinnamon rolls for her grandkids, I had a bit of a meltdown: I miss my grandparents. One set of grandparents lived on a farm on the outskirts of a Midwest college town; the other set lived in a cozy suburb to a big city next to an even bigger lake. It was the best of both worlds for me; I could enjoy the country life and the city life whenever I visited.
      I remember the fun we would have when we would visit the farm. In the summer, my sister and I would get to play outside in the fresh country air. We'd ride on wooden horses that we would drag around the acreage or the orchard or the barn. We'd go out to the cow pasture or into the corn crib or out to the garden. It was heaven. Grandma would make simple but wonderful meals: dinner would be Iowa-cut pork chops, fresh corn, and creamy mashed potatoes. Dessert would include angel food cake slices with fresh strawberry sauce or cookies and ice cream. Breakfast would be toast and scrambled eggs with orange juice or cereal with ice-cold milk. I remember her making cinnamon rolls, too, which is one of the reasons Nancy Fuller's show made me cry. I have so many great memories of spending time at the farm. Being a grandchild of farming grandparents made for a great time. 
     And then we'd visit the grandparents in the big city and get to experience all that entailed. We'd go to the museum or the zoo or a ball park. Summer was filled with parades and summer fests and traveling around all of the wonderful places in the big city. Or we'd stay at home and play in the pool in the backyard. If it got too hot, we could go downstairs in the cool basement and play lots of fun games we'd make up. We'd help grandma make yummy baked chicken and rice pilaf or Swedish meatballs and mashed potatoes (usually just for Christmas, but we could convince her....). Dessert would be ice cream or cake or cookies we helped her bake. Breakfast the next morning would be cereal or waffles. Belgian waffles. With syrup or strawberries or powdered sugar. We'd spend evenings playing board games or, that one Christmas, making a gingerbread house and having to send people to the store to get more ingredients. And the grocery store wasn't the only place to visit. The shopping! We could go to a mall that was bigger than my whole town; I swear it. Okay, maybe not as big as my whole town, but it was big. We would go shopping, well, at least window-shopping, and try on fashionable, cool clothes and experience the big city life.
        Spending time with either set of grandparents was a blessing that I don't think I took advantage of; no, scratch that, I totally know I didn't take advantage of it. I remember time spent at the farm wishing I were at home so I could go to the pool with my friends. I remember time spent in the big-city wishing I were at home so I could go to the local library to get some silly book. I particularly remember one summer we got to spend an entire week in the big city, but all my sister and I wanted to do was hang out at the house and be sullen pre-teenagers. Grandma and Grandpa got a bit miffed with us, in fact, and told us that they might as well send us home early since we weren't going to have any fun.
      What made me sad while I watched the show today was that Nancy made special pancakes with sausages in them so that her grandkids would have a special memory of spending time together with her. It was a poignant moment for me because I do have those special memories of spending time with my grandparents; however, I also try to push those memories into boxes that I store in the back of my mind because, while they are wonderful and happy memories, I'm sad. My grandparents are gone. I won't get to make new memories with them ever again this side of eternity.
       I'm not good at being vulnerable or open with my grief. I'm much better at hiding the sadness behind busyness or hermit-like behavior. Too often, I allow myself to stop feeling the grief instead of pushing myself to feel it so that I can move forward. One of the reasons I haven't written in my blog for so long - I have no idea if anyone even noticed - is that while my blog has been a way to communicate to whomever wants to see it, I didn't want to share.

        Maybe I was supposed to watch that show because it's time to start thinking about and sharing those memories with those who want to know them. In fact, I should probably share this with family who know exactly how I feel. Maybe they'll read my blog.

November Blogging Challenge: "If I could save time in a bottle..."

Day 27

If you could bottle up the perfect day, what would it look like?

This prompt reminded me of that song by Jim Croce, so I used the title as the title of my post for today...well. for yesterday, as I'm running behind on this whole blogging every day thing.  I was doing well until grades and traveling and spending time with family took precedence.  I'm giving myself some grace, though, and not forcing myself to go back to do the posts I've missed.  But the prompt and the song come together beautifully.  Here's the song to enjoy.

My idea of a perfect day would be one I can sleep in on, wake up gradually in a comfy bed, look out the window to see a wonderland of white unbroken snow and grey flannel skies.  Yes, I know, I'm weird and enjoy the cold where I can bundle up in a warm house with a fuzzy blanket and a book or a laptop to while away the day. 

Another part of the perfect day that I'd love to bottle up is spending time with family around a table burgeoning with good foods and fellowship.  We'd spend the time chatting and telling stories while we ate of the bounty of God's graciousness in provision for us.  Several generations would be there to remind us of those who have gone before us, and we'd smile reminiscently--and sometimes sadly--at the memories of those who cannot be with us at the table, but we'd rejoice that One Day we'd get to sit at the Table with them once again.  

We'd share our blessings and our laughter.  We'd sing a table blessing, and the harmony would bring back the times spent worshiping together at church.  We'd look across the table at our relatives and see the history in each other's glances.  Some of us would amaze the others by our willingness to try a dish we would, normally, not eat.  Others would raise a glass in "cheers" as we thought about friends and family and those unable to be with us because they're gathering at other tables.  

We'd share a blessing for those not so fortunate as to be at home for a holiday dinner: the servicemen and women who are far away from home and family doing their jobs to protect our way of life; the homeless or hungry who would rely on the generosity of missions, kitchens, and strangers in order to have a bit of holiday cheer; the men and women who work in hospitals, police and fire stations, and other such places who might have to have their holiday meal another time because work schedules require them to do so.

The day would conclude with games and conversation and, then, hugs goodbye as everyone goes home.  Then I'd get to get comfy on the couch with a blanket again, with a book or a laptop or the TV tuned to some movie I've not seen in forever.

I'd definitely like to bottle up such a day, letting the sweet vintage age and mature until I needed such a reminder of times spent.  I'd uncork that bottle on a day I felt tired and sad and defeated and alone.  I'd let the bottle breathe and then pour it into a glass to sip on as I let the tired, sad, defeated, alone-ness melt away in the warmth of the memories held in my hand.