By: Caroline Kambrich
I hold a lot of memories visiting my Grandma Marge’s house when I was little. As I walk through the door, the distinct smell of her perfume (White Diamonds by Elizabeth Taylor) mixed with the delicate scent of her fine china cabinet transports me to the comfort of her home. I can feel the shag green carpet under my feet as my sister and I race down the stairs to the basement to watch our favorite shows on VHS tapes (with a mix of Ron Popeil’s “Set it and forget it” infomercials). We would always fight over who got to sit in grandpa’s dark turquoise recliner that twanged when you collapsed the footrest out. Neither of us wanted to sit underneath the giant taxidermied tarpin that was displayed proudly over their couch (my grandpa had caught it decades ago on a fishing trip). Her living room upstairs was luxury at it’s 1950’s finest – from delicate crystal nut bowls to beautifully hand-painted lamps with birds on them. A silky blue couch with a leafy scenery stitched in, paired with a white silk armchair and a pink chair. My grandma would read my sister books in the pink chair, and grandpa would sit patiently in the white chair as I dressed him up for our tea party I had booked for us later that day, unbeknownst to him. He really pulled off my Jasmine princess headband very well.
Down the narrow hallway, past the all-green ceramic bathroom, would be three bedrooms. Militant style made beds, with sheets pressed in so tightly you’d have to almost slide in like a glove, they were crispy cold but oh so soft. My parents’ bedroom had a beautiful 4-tier style bedframe with hand-carved wooden posts – I always thought it looked like a princess room – I distinctly remember the lamp with the long crystal embellishments next to a mini gold clock that had a back door with a mini door handle that I loved opening and looking inside. The only memory that I have of my grandparents’ room was when my grandfather had surgery, and he called me in, during his recovery, so I could take a look at his cool post-surgery scar. My grandma wanted to slap him upside the head for showing such a young kid something so morbid, but I thought it was cool, and my grandpa got a kick out of it. I always loved his sense of humor, just like my dad’s.
When we would wake up in the morning, the smell of pancakes and bacon would pick me up out of bed and float me to the kitchen, where my grandma had her blue and white china plates in the oven (to keep your breakfast warm as you enjoyed it). She would wait for the bacon to jussst about to be burnt and then take it off the heat – if the bacon didn’t shatter – it wasn’t grandmas bacon. And she always managed to achieve the perfect buttery rim that everyone wants around each pancake – she got it with every single one. A delicious syrupy plate would be placed in front of me on the doily-style tablecloth, and the plate would be gone before she could even pour my orange juice.
The day would continue with a few errands, riding in her turquoise leather-seated Lincoln (are you sensing a color theme here?) followed by time spent on her wooden porch with white floral metal-framed cushioned seats. The blinds were those bamboo roller-uppers that would take ages to adjust. It was a time for the adults to relax as my sister and I either played in the back garden or downstairs watching infomercials (I truly have no idea why we liked infomercials so much). Out of all the details of her home, one stands out among the rest, and that is love. The love I felt with every meal, every time spent, every laugh exchanged. It felt like a second home to me. Both my grandparents had such a sense of humor. There was not one second of the day that didn’t have laughter in it. I miss the smells. I miss the sounds. I miss my grandpa chasing me around the house. I miss my grandma’s laugh. I miss them. And as you can tell, the details of these trips to my grandparents’ house in Torrington, CT, were some of my fondest memories as a kid. And as I reflect on these special moments in my life, I can’t help but feel this sense of pride. To not only be a part of this family, but to keep this sense of childhood with Colton and his grandparents. Us visiting my mom and dad on the weekends in the morning for pancakes and bacon. Colton giving us a puppet show, playing sports in the backyard, and just relaxing on the couch watching his favorite shows. This time spent with them is so precious, and there is no better feeling than knowing you are giving your child memories that will stay with them forever.
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