To Grandmother's House We Go

I spent today at my Nanny's house, my mom's mom. We're having an anniversary dinner for my parents tomorrow, so I went to help her cook. I've been helping her cook since I can remember. My brother and I would climb up on a stool, put on our chefs hat and apron that she made us, and cook and bake all day long with her. Afterwards we'd take our treats outside and have a "picnic on the hill." We'd take along little china plates, because after all, it was always a special occasion. I felt like a little girl today helping my Nanny, listening to her teach me as we cooked. "Did you know that one cap full of vanilla is exactly one teaspoon?" I in fact, did not know that. Then as I was dicing the onions and celery for the stuffing, she pulled out my old apron, which of course she still had. It was stained, and tattered, and you could barely read the label on it that said "made especially for you by Nanny." To anyone else it would probably look like a rag, but to me, it's a priceless treasure! That's the wonderful thing about grandmothers, especially mine, they're memory keepers. Most of the time when I'm there I just find myself wandering around her house, looking through drawers and finding my old dresses, poems, pictures, and things only a grandmother would keep. And then of course, there's the trunk. In the bedroom that still holds my mom's childhood furniture, is a small brown trunk that is filled with family heirlooms. Inside you'll find letters sent during the war, old photographs of my ancestors in horse and buggy, reading glasses, hair clips, and a small box that holds the movies stubs from each movie my grandparents went to while they were dating. Even as a child I appreciated how special those items were.

And so I left her house feeling very nostalgic, and grateful. And... I wanted to cook! So tonight, at 11:30, I made a blueberry pie. I'm taking it to my Nanny tomorrow. Hopefully she'll be proud.

Don't bore us, get to the chorus.

So this is my first blog! As usual, it's 2 AM and I'm sitting awake telling myself that I need to go to bed. Every night I lie to myself over and over again. "I'll go to bed at 11:30," which turns into..."I'll go to bed at midnight," and before I know it, it's 2:00, and I'm still wide awake. But even though I spend most mornings cursing my late night episodes, trying to convince myself to get out of bed, and rushing to get out the door, I must admit that I love staying up late. There's something about a quiet house, and no expectations. No one expects you to be anywhere at 2 AM, to clean, to cook, or to do anything for that matter. So it's a time to do nothing, to waste time, and get away with it. In my book, it's worth the exhaustion.

"Sleep is overrated."

On that note...guess I better go to sleep.