Wednesday, February 04, 2004
GRANDMA STRICKLETT (PART THREE)
Sunday’s were good at grandma’s house. I would wake up smelling something being pre-cooked for dinner and hear movement all over the house. My aunts were up and getting ready to leave for church. After breakfast we would all get into aunt Mary’s car and arrive in time for Sunday School.
The building seemed so much bigger then. A few years ago I went back to Blair to revisit the old town I knew as a child. The church was so small it almost seemed like a different structure. There it was on the corner across from the grade school but white instead of the creamy yellow it was long ago.
Once arriving at church, there was an urgency about everything. Grandma would go to her class of older ladies, aunt Mary was Sunday School Superintendent so she had things to pass on to the teachers, Inabelle, Sally and Roger all sang in the choir so they were busy around the piano.
The Primary Department I attended was in the basement. Mrs. Murdock was always early, like me, so I often got to help put the chairs in a half-circle facing where she would stand. I loved those chairs. They were painted wood and just the size for our age group. Before teaching we sang songs and took up a collection in one of those familiar baskets…..dropping our pennies in was serious because we knew we were helping God do His work.
The church service was tolerated rather than enjoyed. I always sat by grandma and I could tell she liked it a lot but it was hard for me to sit still. Aunt Mary usually played the piano, with aunt Inabelle leading the singing. Aunt Sally and uncle Roger sang in the choir. I liked the music part but it seemed endless until the sermons were over.
Dinner was always better on Sunday. My favorite was when grandma would open a quart jar of her home-canned cherries. I would ask for them so often that grandma would have to explain why we couldn’t eat them all up first. We would have her applesauce, pears or peaches to make the cherries last longer. All of her fruit was homegrown and pretty to look at in her cellar.
Sunday afternoons were spent visiting or having company. Summer or winter the routine was usually the same. Knowing how cluttered our days have become with sounds and sights plus all the activities make those quiet afternoons very special. It is so easy for me to slip away and return to the pristine world I grew up in. It is not a yearning but rather a grateful thanks to the family members who lived their lives well……and became hero’s to me………….
Until tomorrow,
Essentially Esther
The building seemed so much bigger then. A few years ago I went back to Blair to revisit the old town I knew as a child. The church was so small it almost seemed like a different structure. There it was on the corner across from the grade school but white instead of the creamy yellow it was long ago.
Once arriving at church, there was an urgency about everything. Grandma would go to her class of older ladies, aunt Mary was Sunday School Superintendent so she had things to pass on to the teachers, Inabelle, Sally and Roger all sang in the choir so they were busy around the piano.
The Primary Department I attended was in the basement. Mrs. Murdock was always early, like me, so I often got to help put the chairs in a half-circle facing where she would stand. I loved those chairs. They were painted wood and just the size for our age group. Before teaching we sang songs and took up a collection in one of those familiar baskets…..dropping our pennies in was serious because we knew we were helping God do His work.
The church service was tolerated rather than enjoyed. I always sat by grandma and I could tell she liked it a lot but it was hard for me to sit still. Aunt Mary usually played the piano, with aunt Inabelle leading the singing. Aunt Sally and uncle Roger sang in the choir. I liked the music part but it seemed endless until the sermons were over.
Dinner was always better on Sunday. My favorite was when grandma would open a quart jar of her home-canned cherries. I would ask for them so often that grandma would have to explain why we couldn’t eat them all up first. We would have her applesauce, pears or peaches to make the cherries last longer. All of her fruit was homegrown and pretty to look at in her cellar.
Sunday afternoons were spent visiting or having company. Summer or winter the routine was usually the same. Knowing how cluttered our days have become with sounds and sights plus all the activities make those quiet afternoons very special. It is so easy for me to slip away and return to the pristine world I grew up in. It is not a yearning but rather a grateful thanks to the family members who lived their lives well……and became hero’s to me………….
Until tomorrow,
Essentially Esther
