Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Back to it!

I'm going to start blogging again and this time it's for real.
I think that when I started this I thought I was going to have profound things to say and I didn't want it to become a public diary. Now that I've neglected this for so long I realized that the "profound" things I have to say are often things that happen in my everyday life. So I'm hopping off my high horse and just writing. I'll update on life, work, things I've been doing, and just general happenings. I think that writing about everyday events will make it easier for me to update.

I'm going to cheat to start. I've been taking this class on the teaching of writing and as part of the course requirements I've had to write 3 personal narratives. I'm most proud of my last narrative (which I will post last) but the other two aren't terrible. So I'm going to start by sharing my narratives with my internet friends. This first one is about my grandmother. I have to admit there is some creative writing going on but the memory is still the same. I miss the days when goldfish crackers and S cookies were shared in her all too warm apartment. I hope you enjoy.


The conversations were always the same.

“Hi Mimi! We’re in the area can we stop in and say hello?”

“Oh! Of course!” she’d say “Let me just freshen up.”

We would call my grandmother before we visited because she would never want “company” to see her in her housecoat. She had to be wearing slacks and a blouse or a sweater. It was a rare moment to see my grandmother in less than her best.

The routine was always the same. We would walk into the apartment complex and wave to the security camera that had a live feed to a small television in my grandparent’s apartment. We’d ring the bell and they would buzz us into the building. The elevator was slow and we’d know exactly what would happen once we reached the fourth floor.

My grandparent’s apartment was located directly in front of the elevators. When the doors opened we’d see my grandmother poking her head out of the door.

“Hi! I didn’t know you were heading over.” Mimi would say, pretending she didn’t remember our phone call.

“Hi, Mim. How are you?”

“Oh, you know. Same as always, come sit down.”

The apartment was miraculously set up to fit a lifetime of knick-knacks and furniture into an extremely small space. My grandfather had engineered a plan to place all of their possessions just so into the apartment. We’d sit on a couch that was older than I was at the time and we’d watch CNN or some other 24-hour news channel while catching up on life’s happenings. Inevitably my grandmother would get off of her pink recliner and say, “Can I get you something?”

Then the playful argument would ensue. “No, Mim. We can get something if we want. Really. It’s ok.”

“Oh ok.” she’d respond while she walked toward the kitchen completely disregarding what we had said. “I’ll just bring in a little something in case you change your mind.”

While Mimi tinkered in the kitchen we would open a tray table and place it in the middle of the small living room. In Mimi would walk with glasses of ginger ale with ice, a small bowl of cheddar cheese goldfish crackers, and a plate of what she called S cookies. Snacking on the goodies brought from the kitchen the conversation would continue. Topics would include work, what was going on in the news for the week, and general happenings in the apartment complex.

Once the ginger ale was finished and the bowl of goldfish crackers empty Mimi would get up and put the teapot to boil.

“Mimi, I’ll get the tea.” I’d say to her, every time.

“A little milk. One level teaspoon of sugar.” we’d say simultaneously.

We’d drink tea and eat S cookies in silence. Not for any reason other than to enjoy each other’s company. Eventually, time would get the best of all of us and we’d have to go.

“I’ll clean up” someone would say.

“No. You kids head out. We’ll take care of it.” Mimi would say to everyone.

The goodbyes would be said in the kitchen, right next to the small circle table and right in front of the door that had a seasonal wreath hung on it at all times. Someone would go in the hall and push the elevator button. It would take long enough to say goodbye again and to hug one more time. Once the elevator arrived we’d pile in. The last image would be of my grandmother waving from the door way as the elevator doors closed.


  1. That is a wonderful memory and I hope that you continue to remind yourself of those moments...those are the things that make us who we are...the things that shape us.

  2. I can picture this entire scene in my head <3 Glad you are back!