memories

While I'm away I thought I'd leave a longer than usual entry for you. It's a story about Grandpa Rix. I've been thinking of memories and writing them down and this is a particular favorite.

Every summer since I can remember one of the biggest events was Grandma and Grandpa coming to visit. It was almost as big as the adventure to go visit them!

I would anticipate their arrival and prepare days ahead by laying out my favorite outfit to wear on the floor in a flat version of how it would look on me.

I would wait at the corner of our block watching for their shiny white car. This past time of watching for Crown Victoria’s has made me an expert at spotting them from far away. I would patrol the neighborhood for signs of their arrival and consult the clock on a regular basis.

Finally, just when I would think I couldn’t wait any longer, their car would slide around the corner and I was off like a bullet. I’d pedal as fast as I could and once I hit our driveway I’d be off my bike in a practiced move while it still flew across the yard rider-less. I’d be standing there ready for them to pull in just waiting for hugs and kisses and compliments on the assortment of things I would pepper them with as soon as the greetings were out of the way and the car had been unpacked and washed. I loved this ritual, the smell of his hot car and the water evaporating on the cement.

Grandpa had all the patience in the world for my ridiculous ways. He let me guide him through the yard, showing off my tree house, the latest bug collections and the sand box in the earlier years. He liked seeing the garden and sitting in the yard with a glass of water. I even got him to sit under my tree house, it was the closest he’d get to it, and we shelled peas together via a pulley we set up for our convenience.

One particular afternoon stands out in my memory. We sat in the back yard in comfy chairs under the cherry tree. I think we were supposed to be picking cherries but we were mostly eating them. We had the ladder set up and we took turns picking cherries and bringing them back down to our chairs to enjoy them. We were really living the high life until Grandpa took the time to actually look at one of the cherries he was eating.

A slinky little white worm dangled from the uneaten half of the cherry. He broke open another, and another, to make sure it was just a fluke. It wasn’t. All the cherries were infested with the nasty infiltrators.

I’ve seen grandpa move quick before but this time set records. I followed him closely as he raced into the house. I wasn’t as grossed out as he was. I thought the whole thing was really funny and wanted to see what he was going to do. I followed him to the sink where he quickly pulled his teeth out, a cool bonus in my opinion, and started brushing them while at the same time gurgling mouth wash and going on about how mad he was at those worms!

Grandpa never let me live it down. It was somehow my responsibility to know about those worms in the cherries. We laughed together about our near death experience often. Grandpa swore off cherries ever after.