Yeah, that's happened to me a couple of times recently. Going home was really great, and very emotional. I was getting nostalgic and sentimental over EVERYTHING. Ice plants & eucalyptus trees on the side of the highway. Signs for the 101. AM/PM gas stations. The smell of Grandma's house, the pictures of Granny Worley at age 93 (I think) and her mom at age 18 next to one another in the hall. The things that are still the same, even after all these years--the clocks on the wall, the lamps, the magnets on the fridge, the drawing my brother made on the chalkboard in the office in 1982. I was just so stinkin' happy to be there I cried. I blame the baby, because while I am a sentimental type person, I don't usually start bawling at the sight of a bookshelf full of books on herbal remedies and positive thinking yourself healthy. Usually.
My flight was uneventful, just the way you want flights to be. I watched Captain America and ate my grapes. It might have been funnier if I hadn't been fighting the urge to pee, but I don't know.
My baby cousin (who is 23 and has a baby of her own!) picked me up at the airport. At first it was a comedy of errors as she drove in circles looking for me, on the phone with her mother, who was also on the phone with me as I tried to describe my location. It took us about 5 minutes to realize we were in the same place, but on different levels. Then we headed for home, on the101, then 92 and over the San Mateo bridge, which is the seed for a set of recurring nightmares where I'm driving on a bridge so steep that eventually the car falls off backwards. We detoured through Hayward, thinking we were on our way to get food, then back onto 580 heading to Stockton, and by then it had been over an hour, so we just headed home, but it was a full 3 hours before we actually arrived. We talked non-stop the whole way.
My aunt fed us and then the rest of the family arrived, well, my other aunt and grandparents. We chatted until we were sleepy then headed to bed. I'm staying in my baby cousin's baby's room. She's 3 and precious. As I was getting into bed she came and gave me her stuffed kitty and the prayer baby (babydoll with hands that velcro together) to keep me company. It was the sweetest thing.
Breakfast was a family affair. Everyone was stirring and flipping and tasting and poking. It was perfect. Olivia chatters and jumps and bounces...she is 3 and mornings are awesome. Eggs and bacon and hashbrowns and some cartoons. Of course, my morning started playing kitchen on the bedroom floor where we made sure our hotdogs had the right amount of condiments and the plastic peas stayed away from the spaghetti.
One of the things that seems very BOSWELL in my mind is playing cards. The family game is Peeknuckle. That's not how it's spelled, but I can't remember how it is supposed to be right now. I've never learned how to play, though I've been taught at least twice. We played Hearts instead and then the craziest game called Hand and Foot that has more rules than good sense. I lost miserably at both but I had a blast playing.
Then, I drove to my grandma's house. It wasn't over a river or through the woods. It was under the freeway and down the street. Grandma got new floors and countertops in her kitchen. Other than that, and a few new pictures, everything is exactly as I remember. There are some pictures that only exist here. Old pictures, like the ones of Granny Worley & her mother...
my great-great-grandmother, Fatima Brumley. Grandma and Grandpa's room is covered in pictures. Pictures of the whole family as babies, graduating from high school or college, with their first babies.
|Just one of the walls of pictures. Up top is Grandma & Grandpa. The next row is of their 3 kids as they graduated high school, and next to each kid are pictures of THEIR kids, then a row of grandchildren and family photos.|
|That's my daddy in the middle, my brother on the left, me on the right|
|Mom & Dad & my brother when he was wee|
|This is probably from about 1981. Bow on my head!|
|Dad & Mom, Glenn & Me. Again, probably '81, maybe early '82? My mom would know better, but I'm just guessing based on how old I think I look. And how much hair I've got.|
This is of my Great Aunt Viola's daughters. On the left is Carolynn Mundy Dunn (aunt of Sunday Mundy, who's father is Little John, called Fudd--I also had a Great Uncle Toy, and that's his real name.) & Paulette , my dad's cousin, whom I called Aunt, even though she's not. Taking pictures of pictures is really difficult, but I couldn't stop myself.
Sunday morning was all about biscuits and that's pretty well documented. It was a great trip. It was good to see family and to hear stories about the good old days.
I'm going to go take a nap now, and tackle our two days in the city later.