Today at church there was an elderly lady in the pew behind us who reminded me of my Grandmother. She was my Mom's Mother and I loved her dearly. Almost all of my fond childhood memories are wrapped up in her and Grandpa's house, the two of them in their homey kitchen with the red and white floor tiles, or sitting out on the "carport" which never, in my memory at least, had a car parked beneath it. Instead it was a home for several large picnic tables, lawn chairs, the grill and a small transistor radio on which Grandpa (or just "Pa" as he was better known) would listen to the ballgames and argue, usually vehemently, with the announcer. In the winter, the carport was only used by the family members who smoked, and by the extra refrigerator. In the summer, however, Grandma and Grandpa would spend many hours out there.

I remember now, a little misty eyed I must admit, the joy and excitement I felt when we were pulling up in the driveway. I knew they would be waiting for us. My Mom told me once that her parents loved my sister and I best because we didn't hesitate, after running through the back door to fall into their arms and shower them with hugs and kisses. She said not all the grandchildren were so affectionate. I could not have restrained myself from loving them though. It never failed that as soon as we arrived, Grandpa would put a finger to his lips while looking out of the corner of his eye at my Mom, and open the cabinet which held the "goodies" to show us what treats he bought especially for us and hid in the kitchen.

I doubt they loved anyone "best" though and it doesn't matter because I always felt loved best. They had many, many grandchildren. I don't know if I can count us all. There were nine children in the family, a big Irish Catholic bunch. I loved the times when they would all gather at Grandma and Grandpa's house for holidays, weddings, baptisms and other occasions. The ladies of the family would always work and chat together in the kitchen, while the guys manned the grill or played poker in the dining room. I remember playing under the huge dining room table with my cousins while the Uncles and Grandpa played poker for hours.

I loved the old fashioned words they used for some things. The "davenport" or just "daven" was the couch. Pants were always "slacks" and jeans "dungarees". A t-shirt was a "jersey" and the living room was the "parlor". I wish I could hear their voices now. The sweet lady at church today sent me back in time and I'm thankful.