grandparents
Becoming a grandparent makes getting older something to look forward to - all the fun of parenting, without the hassle.
"I wish you luck"
Growing up, I could never keep a diary. I tried, of course – it was something young girls were supposed to do – but it never lasted. My hands would cramp from writing too much, everything spilling out like water over the edge of an overfilled tub. My hand couldn’t keep up with my brain, as one of my 4th grade teachers said when discussing my messy penmanship. Then there would be days, weeks, months where I would forget, the diary sitting forgotten, and I would feel guilty and resume. Then I would start writing again, trying to “fill in” the imaginary friend that was the little black book my mother bought me to “help me express myself”. But I would get tired of trying to relate everything that had happened in the interim, so I would always give up.
By Christie Sausa5 years ago in Families
The Little Black Book
The Little Black Book Bethany Williams That damn black book. He corrected himself, that darn black book. Even with his grandma dead and buried, standing in her house, he felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck. She always had a newspaper ready to whack him and his brothers with—for cussing, for being too noisy, too dirty, too alive. And later she would smile and point to it. Her little black notebook. She was always writing in it. For twenty-eight years Alan had watched her. She would point to it and say, “Someday this will be yours, Alan. Someday you’ll understand everything” And he would say, “Yes, Grandma Baker.” Never Granny or Gran or Maw-Maw. She was always Grandma Baker to her grandchildren.
By Bethany Williams5 years ago in Families
Grandad
Grandad had always been interested in the sea, for as long as I had known him, and for as long as my mum and dad and aunts and uncles had known him too. I don’t know whether his interest predated my grandma or not, since she had died when I was very young, but I assume that it did.
By George Knight5 years ago in Families
Under the Aspen Tree
ASPEN TREE : tree of heroes / shield tree / power to visit the underworld and return safely / all roots connect WISHBONE : “little fork” / formed by the fusion of two clavicles / primary function is the strengthening of the thoracic skeleton to withstand the vigor of flight / lifting the wings during the recovery stroke
By Angela Grillo5 years ago in Families
The Promise
Ella yawned, stretched and slowly prised open her eyes, gradually taking in the strange surroundings. Her mouth and tongue were as sticky as flypaper, her throat parched and raw with a lingering chemical aftertaste. She reached out blindly, grasped a tepid bottle of water and gulped it down in a vain attempt to quench her raging thirst.
By Joanne Wilson5 years ago in Families
The Little Black Book
I held the old, tattered, small black book in my hands as I caressed its shiny oiled leather cover. It had been amongst my late mother’s things, hidden away in the corner of the dusty attic in some long-forgotten boxes. Apparently, it had been with my Grandad’s things when he had been reported as killed at the beginning of WW2 and was returned as part of his personal effects to my grandmother, and my mother had then inherited it after she had died. Now that my mother had died, I had now inherited her things.
By Cathy Howe5 years ago in Families
Grandma's Treasures
Sitting looking out at the waves crashing against the beach from my deck, feeling a bit chilly even with the sun on my face, I start thinking about my grandma. Gladys. She has been gone a few years now, but has not left my heart. Her gift changed my life.
By Cheryl Keller5 years ago in Families
The Gypsy and the Fortune
As Florence settled into her seat, for the onward flight to Rome, tears welled up in her eyes. Only moments earlier she had farewelled her much loved cousins, with a smile on her face, but now the extraordinary sadness emerged, as it had before in the same scenario, played out two years earlier. It amazed her, after having grown up on the other side of the world, how her heart-strings pulled. She let the tears fall, until her beloved Croatia, the shoreline of Split, and the islands below, could no longer be seen from the window.
By Tania Maree Herbert5 years ago in Families
