Grandma's Kitchen - Pt. 4
What ever the reason I had for visiting my grandmother; whether alone or with my entire family, the day's end was signified by a gathering in the kitchen. No one left Grandma's house without a meal or at least dessert.
Though I recognized this custom meant my time with Grandma was nearly finished, I'll not deny it was also a highlight of the day.
After gathering all the berries and other fruit we had so carefully harvested throughout the afternoon, Grandma and I slowly climbed the old wooden stairs that led to the kitchen door. Grandma always paused on the third step as she reached up and twisted the doorknob and then gently pushed the door open. Instantly, ambient light from a small living room lamp washed out, creating a golden glow on the creaky, paint-pealed steps. Warmth from her oversized antiquated stove puffed out around my legs, promising warmth within.
I followed Grandma up the final two steps, watching her skirt bounce and puff as she moved. When we were both inside, I carefully closed the heavy wooden door. There was never a time I performed this loving ritual that I didn't feel like crying because the day was nearly over. Disappointment over leaving Grandma's house was always filtered out, though, by the exhaustion I felt at the end of the day.
Grandma's kitchen was a big as her living room, though neither was large by any standards. Grandma walked the length of it slowly, stopping long enough to unfold her apron and stained bib onto the old oak table, allowing the fruit to bounce and roll out. I loved watching her corral the wayward fruit with her long slender fingers.
Depositing the fruit from my own stained bib onto the old table, I often then just stood there watching my grandmother move about from the sink to her stove and back again. Every step of her heavy black lace-up shoes made clunking noises, causing the cracked green linoleum to respond in tiny snaps, pops, and ticks.
The voice of the linoleum was mesmerizing and soon, I sunk to the floor to hear better the language of age and love that seemed to emanate from everywhere in Grandma's house. Or, maybe it was that I was so tired my child mind could no longer hold reality, exchanging it for fantasy.
Soon, I was sprawled on my tummy, tracing the many cracks of the floor covering with my fingers. I often found them to be in the shape of animals and Grandma took the time to step away from the stove, where she stirred va renya, to comment on whatever picture I pointed out. About the time I began to doze, Grandma announced our supper of light sandwiches and hot tea with va renya was ready.
Going out to Grandmas porch was another perk of being with her. My mother never let me eat outside! Grandma and I sat side by side and after eating our meal, we settled back to have our tea. Grandma's tea was (of course) just tea, however, her va rena was the tops!
Va rena is made by cooking fresh picked cherries with sugar until it becomes a sweet syrupy goo - then it is put by the spoonful into hot tea. I knew that if I were drinking cherries and tea, my parents would soon be coming down the road to take me home. But for now, Grandma and I watched the sun drop below the horizon as we sipped our tea in silence. Afterwards, I snuggled against her warm body to ward off the evening chill and felt safe.
Within minutes, I heard the familiar sound of my parent's old red Hudson rumbling down the road and could see big round headlights bobbing along toward Grandma's driveway. I always pushed in closer to Grandma as if I could hide and my parents would let me stay there with her.
"Grandma, I don't want to go home."
"I love you, too, child."
--------------------
I love you, Grandma.
Patti
Though I recognized this custom meant my time with Grandma was nearly finished, I'll not deny it was also a highlight of the day.
After gathering all the berries and other fruit we had so carefully harvested throughout the afternoon, Grandma and I slowly climbed the old wooden stairs that led to the kitchen door. Grandma always paused on the third step as she reached up and twisted the doorknob and then gently pushed the door open. Instantly, ambient light from a small living room lamp washed out, creating a golden glow on the creaky, paint-pealed steps. Warmth from her oversized antiquated stove puffed out around my legs, promising warmth within.
I followed Grandma up the final two steps, watching her skirt bounce and puff as she moved. When we were both inside, I carefully closed the heavy wooden door. There was never a time I performed this loving ritual that I didn't feel like crying because the day was nearly over. Disappointment over leaving Grandma's house was always filtered out, though, by the exhaustion I felt at the end of the day.
Grandma's kitchen was a big as her living room, though neither was large by any standards. Grandma walked the length of it slowly, stopping long enough to unfold her apron and stained bib onto the old oak table, allowing the fruit to bounce and roll out. I loved watching her corral the wayward fruit with her long slender fingers.
Depositing the fruit from my own stained bib onto the old table, I often then just stood there watching my grandmother move about from the sink to her stove and back again. Every step of her heavy black lace-up shoes made clunking noises, causing the cracked green linoleum to respond in tiny snaps, pops, and ticks.
The voice of the linoleum was mesmerizing and soon, I sunk to the floor to hear better the language of age and love that seemed to emanate from everywhere in Grandma's house. Or, maybe it was that I was so tired my child mind could no longer hold reality, exchanging it for fantasy.
Soon, I was sprawled on my tummy, tracing the many cracks of the floor covering with my fingers. I often found them to be in the shape of animals and Grandma took the time to step away from the stove, where she stirred va renya, to comment on whatever picture I pointed out. About the time I began to doze, Grandma announced our supper of light sandwiches and hot tea with va renya was ready.
Going out to Grandmas porch was another perk of being with her. My mother never let me eat outside! Grandma and I sat side by side and after eating our meal, we settled back to have our tea. Grandma's tea was (of course) just tea, however, her va rena was the tops!
Va rena is made by cooking fresh picked cherries with sugar until it becomes a sweet syrupy goo - then it is put by the spoonful into hot tea. I knew that if I were drinking cherries and tea, my parents would soon be coming down the road to take me home. But for now, Grandma and I watched the sun drop below the horizon as we sipped our tea in silence. Afterwards, I snuggled against her warm body to ward off the evening chill and felt safe.
Within minutes, I heard the familiar sound of my parent's old red Hudson rumbling down the road and could see big round headlights bobbing along toward Grandma's driveway. I always pushed in closer to Grandma as if I could hide and my parents would let me stay there with her.
"Grandma, I don't want to go home."
"I love you, too, child."
--------------------
I love you, Grandma.
Patti
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