8:55
I've just finished listening to Jeannette Walls "Half Broken Horses" - yes, I listen to audiobooks - bring on the jeering. If you haven't read it, or listened to it, it's about her grandmother Lily and her life early in the 1900's.
Which brought me to my own grandparents. My mother's father, who I called Oupa was my favourite of my grandparents. I can't really explain why, because I don't ever remember him talking to me. I do remember following him everywhere; even when he went down the alleyway between the houses to pee. I had to stand back and wait there for him to return. Maybe that was closer than the communal bathroom in the backyard shared by 4 of houses. It was easily 40 years ago, I don't remember. This was long before indoor plumbing came to Fietas.
I remember him sitting on a chest (I remember the kussie was green) that stood in the tiny kitchen by the wood stove, reading his paper. He wore a white undershirt, that had a dirty grey mark where the newspaper rubbed against it. He had greased grey hair that fell over his brown and a perpetual scowl.
9:00
This blog post will continue beyond the five minute time limit.
Downstairs I have a treasured little red rocking horse that Oupa had bought me - but I have no memory of getting it or playing with it as a child. Oddly the memory that stands out is being warned to not let other children play with it because they'd break it. And I remember it being a big deal that Oupa bought me such an extravagant toy.
He died when I was 7, so was not a part of my life for very long. But I can't tell you why I loved him so. I was almost a little afraid of him - it's not like we'd walk in the door of the three-roomed house in Fietas and I'd jump into his arms. My childhood was not filled with displays of affection. Even the sound of his voice evades my memory now, and I don't really remember him talking to anyone else. He was a bit of grump sitting there with his paper.
But for whatever reason, I loved him completely.
I've just finished listening to Jeannette Walls "Half Broken Horses" - yes, I listen to audiobooks - bring on the jeering. If you haven't read it, or listened to it, it's about her grandmother Lily and her life early in the 1900's.
Which brought me to my own grandparents. My mother's father, who I called Oupa was my favourite of my grandparents. I can't really explain why, because I don't ever remember him talking to me. I do remember following him everywhere; even when he went down the alleyway between the houses to pee. I had to stand back and wait there for him to return. Maybe that was closer than the communal bathroom in the backyard shared by 4 of houses. It was easily 40 years ago, I don't remember. This was long before indoor plumbing came to Fietas.
I remember him sitting on a chest (I remember the kussie was green) that stood in the tiny kitchen by the wood stove, reading his paper. He wore a white undershirt, that had a dirty grey mark where the newspaper rubbed against it. He had greased grey hair that fell over his brown and a perpetual scowl.
9:00
 |
| Oupa with my Parents. |
This blog post will continue beyond the five minute time limit.
Downstairs I have a treasured little red rocking horse that Oupa had bought me - but I have no memory of getting it or playing with it as a child. Oddly the memory that stands out is being warned to not let other children play with it because they'd break it. And I remember it being a big deal that Oupa bought me such an extravagant toy.
He died when I was 7, so was not a part of my life for very long. But I can't tell you why I loved him so. I was almost a little afraid of him - it's not like we'd walk in the door of the three-roomed house in Fietas and I'd jump into his arms. My childhood was not filled with displays of affection. Even the sound of his voice evades my memory now, and I don't really remember him talking to anyone else. He was a bit of grump sitting there with his paper.
But for whatever reason, I loved him completely.
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