Gramps

When I was little, going to my grandpa's house wasn't my favorite thing in the world. The drive to phoenix was painfully long for an 8 year old. I remember getting to the tunnel and knowing we were close. I'd hold my breath and make a ridiculous wish for something like the ability to fly, or kiss a boy. I always ended up having fun at Grandpa Johnson's house though. First stop was the kitchen. I'd fling off my shoes at the front door and reach out one of my hands to give my grandpa one of those half hugs because I was moving too fast towards the other room. Once I made it to the kitchen I always turned it into a top secret cookie mission. I'd tip toe across the cold tile floor and make my way to that counter to the right of the pink stove, stretch my arms up, be extra silent lifting the lid off the cookie jar, and grab as many cookies as my tiny hands could hold. I don't know why I always felt like I had to "sneak" to get those cookies. Looking back on it, i'm pretty sure my grandpa would specially stock the jar anticipating our visit. Leaving a cookie crumb trail behind me, I would meet my brother and sister out in the backyard. They would already be up in an orange tree, or jumping into the compost pile pit. The trees seemed so massive, and the pit we would jump into so deep. Everything was exciting back then and ready to be explored. We'd spend hours back there picking radishes and eating them off the vine, going through all of the old toys and trinkets my grandpa had stored on the side of the house, just doing what kids did. Once the adults were done with their "floral sofa conversations" they would make their way out to watch us kids play. They'd sit in lawn chairs and chat a little more about things I wish I could listen in on today. My grandpa had the best stories, but I was too young to realize it until I was about 18. Grandpa Johnson passed away when I was 21. I'd give anything to make that "painfully long" drive to phoenix again and chat with my grandpa about what it was like to live during the great depression, or how much different everything was when he was younger. I wish I had recorded the stories he told in a journal or something because my memory is probably my worst quality. I forget everything, especially important details.



A few nights ago we went and visited grandma and grandpa cody (taylor's grandparents). There was something very comforting about the gingerale and freshly baked m&m cookies we shared while looking at old photos and telling stories on the couch.