Mommy, will you read me a story?

Every summer, between the music boxes and the pitchers, Great Grandma would sit in her old, yellow armchair and read to us. All her great-grandchildren gathered around to listen. Back when Great Grandma wasn't too old, and we weren't too big, one lucky kid got to sit on her lap while she read.

I don't think Great Grandma had more than two, maybe three children's books. I'm still a bit in awe that, year after year, we never tired of hearing the same stories over and over again. In fact, we'd always ask her to read to us.

I only have vague memories of one of the books--a story about a little Chinese boy. The other book, I don't think I could ever forget that one. Flicka, Ricka, Dicka and the New Dotted Dresses. I don't know why this one sticks out most in my mind; maybe it's because I can still hear Great Grandma's voice in my head saying those names.

Great Grandma gave the book to Mary. It's now on her bookshelf, weathered and beaten and showing its age of over 50 years... otherwise known as well-loved.

Mom read to us, too. It was probably every day, but I can't be certain. We had gads of books as children, and we'd do all we could to get our hands on more (something that still hasn’t stopped being a habit). I remember The Grouchy Ladybug, The Mitten, Miss Nelson is Missing, The Polar Express, Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel... Cordoroy was probably a bit worn out after all the times we'd read him. I could go on, but there are just too many. It's really great to go to the book store and see that some of these titles are still out there. Even with all these memories, they still aren't the ones I treasure the most.

It got better when we got older.

Every night before bedtime (well, at least I think it was every night), my sisters and I would all cuddle around Mom while she read us a few chapters from the current book. We could all read on our own, but there was just something about having Mom read A Cricket in Times Square to us. It was like having a favorite television show and looking forward to a new episode every week, only better. We only had to wait one night before we found out what was going to happen to Karana next in Island of the Blue Dolphins, or what adventure James and the Giant Peach would encounter next.

It's no wonder that Mom and Dad had trouble dragging us out of the bookstore without having bought us a book. ;)

Memories... Stuck in the Corner of My Mind...

It occurred to me today what a funny thing the memory is. Or maybe it's just mine that's funny. The memories foremost in my mind are always the bad ones. Senior year on the softball team. A horrendous birthday. Kids that teased me. Friends that left me. And countless other memories that only serve to upset me, remind me how I've been hurt, emotional scars I still carry. My life has been so focused on the bad lately that I'd forgotten just how many good memories I have.

I've got gads and gads... so many that they're all fighting to be told first. At Tiffani's house, eating a way bigger bowl of ice cream than I was allowed at home. Cheering on the Braves with Maryellen. Long drives with Abeer, blasting the radio and singing along at the top of our lungs. Making a killer catch at first base. Pitching a perfect game sophomore year. Waiting anxiously for 7pm on Sundays. Reading my first Dean Koontz book. My sisters and I getting in our leotards and making up our own gymnastics. Helping Letty lop off her long ponytail even though her parents would kill her. Listening to a tone-deaf Brittany sing Alanis at the top of her lungs. Andie and I dumping Kool-Aid mix into our 5 gallon water cooler so we could have fruit punch on tap. Road trips with my softball team. Going up to Phoenix with Stacy and Laura looking for prom dresses. The hugs from the first kids I coached. Standing smack dab under the Eiffel Tower and looking straight up. Eating Domino's Pizza in France. Making Christmas cookies. Going to a World Series baseball game. Making sno-cones with my Snoopy Sno-Cone maker. Finding a duck in Turkey and naming him Quack. The first time I hit a royal flush on a video poker machine. Summer vacation in Michigan. Eating all the stuffing at Thanksgiving. Playing poker with Aunt Holly and Uncle Paul. Getting a new puppy and naming him Max.

There are so many, I don't know where to start. But I thought I'd at least list some of them... just so I can remember.

Cocktails, Klondike Bars, and Music Boxes

My great grandmother was born in the nineteenth century. August 28, 1898. The last time I saw her was for her 100th birthday party. Her birthday always doubled as our annual family reunion. Generations, gads of people, all related, all there to celebrate the life of our beloved matriarch, Agnes Howard Holt. I never knew who most of these people were, just my immediate aunts and uncles and cousins, but that didn't stop me from appreciating just how Great Grandma was. What an amazing legacy. She passed away just a few weeks shy of her 101st birthday, but I know she'll live on through all of us.

The first thing that comes to mind with I think of Great Grandma is her apartment. I'll always remember that first day of our family vacation - every year - the rolling hills with brilliantly green grass that we just didn't see in Tucson as we drove in our rental car into her apartment complex. I never quite knew which building was hers because they all looked the same, but once Mom and Dad parked the car and pointed it out, it was a race between my sisters and I who could get to the door first to ring the buzzer for Great Grandma to let us in. Such a novelty that was for us kids. Then, when we heard the buzzer go off, it was like the starting shot at the races - who could make it down the hall the fastest to hug Great Grandma first. Mom and Dad always slowed us down; there were other people that lived there, too, and it wasn't nice to make so much noise with our stampeding. After being forced to reduce to a torturously slow walk down the halls, we'd arrive at the door. Apartment number 811.

We'd all get our hugs from Great Grandma and the "my how you've growns" right there in the hallway before Mom and Dad even had a chance to walk through the door. She always had presents waiting for us - silly things like paddle balls and kaleidoscopes - but they kept us and our cousins amused long enough. After we were all settled in the living room around that circular coffee table, we'd have cocktails. Yeah, cocktails are supposed to be alcoholic beverages, but us kids didn't know any better. One lucky kid (sometimes two) got to help Great Grandma in the kitchen pouring sodas from cans, getting out the Nuts and Bolts (like Chex Mix, only better), arranging crackers on a plate around the little container of cheese spread, getting out the fun mini-knives that were just for the cheese... It was a whole affair in and of itself.

When everyone was settled on those old, yellow couches around the coffee table, the adults would chat and catch up while everyone snacked. Great Grandma, Grandma Joan, Mom, Aunt Marcy, Aunt Ann... they'd all be in and out, helping get dinner ready. The grown ups would look at photo albums, and the kids would play with their new toys as well as the basket of older ones that Great Grandma kept just for us.

Dinner was a grand affair... at least from my young eyes. Everyone around the long table, passing food and chatting happily. I remember the spaghetti dinners the most, the ones where we got to spoon out parmesan cheese out of a little dish and eat all the French bread we could manage. Most of us kids didn't like to eat the crusts, just the buttery, soft middle. We'd always get a big kick out of the fact that Great Grandma would eat them all for us. She liked the way they crunched softly.

After cleaning up from dinner and resetting the table for dessert, it was time for Klondike Bars! The only time I'd ever eat them with a spoon was at Great Grandma's place.

What came after dessert was always one of my favorite parts of our time at Great Grandma's. The music boxes. Great Grandma had a huge collection of them, some new, most quite old. When we were old enough to be careful with them, she would let one of us pick the first music box to listen to. One of my favorites was the one that played "Singin' in the Rain" and had a guy and a gal twirling around a lamppost with their umbrellas. Some of the music boxes were very old and fragile, but each one was so unique and creative. I think each of us had our own favorite.

When we tired of the music boxes, we'd ask Great Grandma to show us her pitchers. Sometimes we'd have to wait while she showed us pictures because we didn't want her to think she'd heard us wrong. She had a pitcher collection - all different sizes, shapes, and colors - each had it's own story of when and where she'd gotten it; she'd tell us as we unwrapped them from the tissue they were stored in. The best part of the pitchers was the organizing... smallest to largest on the windowsill. It was always a group effort, and we had to be sure of the order, being careful if one was just a fraction bigger than another.

Funny how the simplest things became the best memories. I have a lifetime worth of memories of Great Grandma, some I didn't even realize were there, but all of them are a treasured part of my childhood. And I hope someday someone can say the same of me.