Ruthi
I just read Ruthi's Xanga and I was moved. I didn't even read the comments. It seemed kind of cheap because I know she did not do it for anyone else. I imagine she got some comments on how interesting it was or "I just love the way you write" or something like that. I also felt like saying something but I couldn't think of anything at all that would mean anything. So I write a story. Ruthi, this is for you.
My grandmother looked as all grandmothers should. Grand. She wasn't someone you'd expect to find anywhere else. In fact, when I think back on it, if I didn't know her and I saw her somewhere, I would guess that she was a grandmother.
She loved me so much. All the grandchildren really but it never felt like shared love. She cooked. My goodness did she cook. And she treated sugar like it was it's own food group. I remember breakfasts there. There were always at least ten people at the house, even only three lived there. My grandfather had built it almost entirely with his own hands. When I was there, Grandma was the boss. My parents were overruled. It was day and night from where my parents and I lived. The downtown of Columbus to an old Iron town called Ironton. I actually believed, at one point, that the street she lived on was called 'Grandma's Road."
For awhile, it was the only place that I could relax at. When she died, everything change. She was the head of our the family. My grandfather hung on for a few more years but he wasn't the same. And when he died, the family had to sell the place. Doesn't seem fair when that place was so much more than a house. Like a robbery of time and memories and life.
I love my Grandma very much. I can't wait to see her again or hear her sing. I loved to hear her sing.
nbb
My grandmother looked as all grandmothers should. Grand. She wasn't someone you'd expect to find anywhere else. In fact, when I think back on it, if I didn't know her and I saw her somewhere, I would guess that she was a grandmother.
She loved me so much. All the grandchildren really but it never felt like shared love. She cooked. My goodness did she cook. And she treated sugar like it was it's own food group. I remember breakfasts there. There were always at least ten people at the house, even only three lived there. My grandfather had built it almost entirely with his own hands. When I was there, Grandma was the boss. My parents were overruled. It was day and night from where my parents and I lived. The downtown of Columbus to an old Iron town called Ironton. I actually believed, at one point, that the street she lived on was called 'Grandma's Road."
For awhile, it was the only place that I could relax at. When she died, everything change. She was the head of our the family. My grandfather hung on for a few more years but he wasn't the same. And when he died, the family had to sell the place. Doesn't seem fair when that place was so much more than a house. Like a robbery of time and memories and life.
I love my Grandma very much. I can't wait to see her again or hear her sing. I loved to hear her sing.
nbb