Going to Nannie's House

(Nannie was our Grandmother on our Mother's side. She didn't like the names "Grandmother" or "Grandma". She would tell us it made her sound to old and all but forbid us to call her either of those names.)

When I was younger, much younger, my brother and I looked forward to Sunday morning because we knew that one us would be going home with our Nannie after church. She usually never took us both at the same time because one of us was "enough to handle", as she so delicately put it.

We were always at church before Nannie and my brother and I would eagerly await here arrival. There were few things that kept us still in church but Nannie always worked her magic. She would pull out her "old people's gum" which turned out to be DoubleMint and hand us a stick. We would happily unwrap the gum and chew away. We always felt we were getting away with something when we were sitting with Nannie, like getting to chew gum during church. I never could stand the taste of mint gum; I guess it was just because Nannie gave it to us that always made it so special.

After church we waited to see which one of us Nannie would be taking with her. The rest of the family would arrive at her house later after they went home and changed clothes. Nannie would get home, change clothes, and immediately start Sunday dinner. (My husband and I refer to "dinner" as supper but my Nannie and my parents always called lunch "dinner".) Sunday dinner always contained fried chicken. The rest of the meal is a little sketchy considering it's been about twenty-five years ago. The one thing I remember the most was that Nannie always fried a whole chicken. (The kind that comes with the liver, gizzard, etc.) Well, she would fry all of the edible parts. Here we were, six people with one fried chicken liver. Usually two of us would split it. Now I think back to that and wonder if Nannie ever knew that you could buy a container of just livers.

After lunch one of us, the one that didn't get to come home with her, would get to stay with her for a few hours. This would involve an afternoon nap. We couldn't wait to lie down. (Yes, a young child excited about a chance to take a nap!) Naptime meant story time. This did not involve a book, but Nannie's imagination.

Sadly, we lost Nannie right after Christmas in 1983.

My brother and I reminisce every now and then. He was just six years old when she passed away. I guess I would have been about ten. His memories are so much better than mine. She really left a strong impression on both of us.

Now I think of my own little girl and how excited she gets when she's going to Nannie and Papa's house. I only lived about five minutes from my Nannie, which sometimes seemed like forever. We live about four hours from my parents' house, which makes for a long road trip. I can hear the anxiousness in my daughter's voice as she asks "Are we almost there?" for the hundredth time. I see the excitement in my little ones eyes, as we get closer. I see the smile on her face as we pull in their driveway and then I remember she's going to Nannie and Papa's house.