Thanks

Last week we headed north in shifts. On Monday night Peter loaded the kids up in my parents' station wagon (our car leaks oil like Julian Assange and would never have made it) with a good 26 hours of videos and a generous supply of treats, snacks and sippy cups. Over the river and through the woods and up I-95 they went. To Oma and PopPop's house in Western Mass.

By the time I joined the crew on Wednesday night they were relaxed and settled in and exuberant. Playing with the doll house, swinging on the swing set, taking walks, playing music, dressing up, reading books, playing ping pong and fooze ball, exploring. "Big Oma's House" (as Josie likes to call it) is heaven on earth for a grandchild. Where everything is ancient and special and secret and theirs to enjoy.

My grandparents usually came to us for holidays, with a few exceptions. But every summer for many years I would spend weeks at each of my grandparents' houses. One or two weeks in North Carolina, and one or two in Tennessee. I remember those houses so well. The smell of the attic where I was allowed to explore on rainy days. The feel of the carpet on my feet. The sound of the grandfather clock in the parlor. The taste of french toast, or Church's fried chicken, and always sweet tea. One grandmother shot the squirrels in her back yard with a bebe gun. The other lived down the block from peacocks. All of my grandparents adored me and spoiled me, even as they tried desperately to teach me southern manners and what it meant to actually do chores.

I have no doubt that "Big Oma's House" is permanently etched in my children's memories. Though the cumulative minutes are few, they are profound.

The Thanksgiving meal is possibly the most perfect I can remember. The turkey (local, organic, brined, grilled) was a confident lead, but each of the supporting side dishes could have stood on their own. The gravy, gorgonzola green beans, dressing, potatoes (white and sweet), cranberry sauce, and wine all hit the table at the same time, a half hour ahead of schedule. Thanks to PopPop's culinary mastery and many hands to help, it was a meal to fully satisfy and gratify.

The next day was Susie Day. What used to be "Christmas," the one day of the year when we would all gather to exchange gifts and songs and see Peter's dear Aunt Susie, was just "Susie Day." Susie drove down Presque Isle, Maine (7 + hours) for the day, just to hang out and connect. Without the usual distractions of presents, we had hours to play, talk, and just be.

After a few more days to soak up the grandparent's love, Peter managed to deliver the kids back to MD in one piece (with the help of a few more movies and snacks and treats). Back in to the fray.

It will be many months before we return to South Hadley. Until then we will have to feed on the memories of smoked turkey and guesstures and the flying trapeze and Omaandpoppop masterfully coordinating it all. So thankful for that!