#ThrowbackThursday: Great Grandpa's House

Written by Ruby A. Iadeluca

The following stems from an old college Literature paper of mine. And seeing as how I wrote it, I took many, many liberties correcting and embellishing where needed. My hope is that this will be a lengthy series.:

I spent a lot of my early childhood days in a place I could have very easily called home. This place was my great-grandparents' house. The lived in a light green, two-story, brick house. It was a peaceful setting, off the busy road. It was surrounded by towering maples and pines, which lent to the mint-green coolness of the brick house.

A garage, matching in color, squats beside the house. And behind that is a small barn, built with pine and a slanting metal roof. Small windows, fly-strips, tractor parts, saddles, bits and reins occupied the barn, lying still, covered in dust. With the ponies gone the barn seemed to sit in a vacuum tube of bygone days. The empty pony pens' floors matted with moldy straw.

It was a small barn, built with a low ceiling to accommodate the hayloft above. One day, after I was told to leave the ponies alone because they were lame, I went down to the barn. My pony's name was Sam. My sister's pony's name was Sarge or Sergeant. Sam was mine because he was a little smaller than Sarge. When I went down to the barn, the ponies were standing at the manger, not necessarily eating, but standing there in the mud-tray to aid their lame hooves. I spoke to them. I curried them. Then, child that I was, I hoisted myself onto Sam. He immediately bucked and I remember hitting my head so hard on the low ceiling that I saw stars. Foolish child! Should have listened to Great-grandpa. I climbed down gingerly and walked back to the house trying to act as though nothing had happened.

I remember so many details of that era; of that house. Grandma always wore dresses. She had good dresses for church and visiting. And she had her every-day dresses. She had lots of pretty aprons, too. She was always baking. The smell of fresh bread every week was a delight to the senses, even for a child. And if we were lucky - we could smell a loaf of cinnamon bread, too! I can remember pancakes for lunch. Grandma, though often thought of as an ornery woman and a stickler for penny-pinching, loved us girls and Grandpa tremendously. We often got chocolate milk with lunch, and once in a while we were treated to milkshakes made with the mixer on the kitchen wall. They were always served in these glasses that had monkeys on them.

To this day I have a hard time eating raspberries. I loved them as a child; I really did! One day, Grandma and Grandpa, my sister and me sat on the enclosed porch at the back of the house to eat our lunch. Dessert was a small bowl of freshly picked raspberries. So fresh, mine had a tiny white worm inside of one. I probably started to cry. But Grandpa, softy that he was, tried to make me laugh and believe that it wasn't that big of a deal. He squashed the teeny-tiny worm with his finger and ATE it!! He may have scarred me for life when it comes to raspberries, but I'll always remember this loving act!

However, I can certainly eat my fair share (and then some) of raspberry fluff atop yellow cake!