Out of the Frying Pan

Heaven on Earth

My grandfather had stories and old sayings that became a part of my life. When I was around him, I was always the listener.

I had two brothers that were twins, well, only in looks, that is. They were the exact opposite of one another. Grandpa used to refer to them as Cain and Abel (cause he’d wonder which one was going to kill the other). Their real names were Lenny and Lanny. Unlike me, they didn’t care much about anything except arguing, hating what the other liked, or picking on me because they were five years older. But not around Grandpa, he had raised eleven kids; these two were no match for him.

The year I was twelve, I couldn’t wait for school to let out for Christmas vacation. My brothers and I were going to spend part of our vacation at Grandpa’s. I was excited that I’d get to spend time with Grandpa, even though the original Dumb & Dumber were going to be there. My parents drove us over to my grandpa’s house, the three of us boys in the back seat. It annoyed me that I always had to wait until one or the other brother got out of the car, because I always got stuck in the middle to keep them separated.

Grandpa came out to greet us with a warm smile. We went inside his house and there was a fire in the fireplace and next to that was his chair. He kept a combination woodbox/bench across from where he sat, and that was where I liked to sit, to listen and watch him as he told his stories. As for my brothers, one of them sat on the couch, the other sat on a chair, never together unless forced to.

Above the fireplace was a mantle with pictures and whatnots, some of them handmade. Above that mantle hung a Kentucky long rifle that had belonged to his dad. To me, being in that room was heaven on earth. He would tell us stories and sometimes he would use his fiddle for special effects, like a train just starting to turn its wheels or the lonesome sound of its whistle blow, or a car screech, or a dog bark. I was so amazed how he could make that fiddle talk those parts.

My brothers on the other hand, were bored. I would have beat the tar out of both of them if I could, for showing disrespect to my grandfather. But I knew my grandpa would help them to get over being bored the next morning. See, there was a foot of snow on the ground, which meant all the livestock was in the barn. Let me just say it wouldn’t be snow they’d be shoveling. My grandfather would ensure that my brothers wouldn’t be bored for long.

When we stayed at Grandpa’s house, he’d give us milk and cookies, even coffee if we liked. Sometimes we would make snow cream (ice cream from the snow). He only had two things to read, the newspaper and the bible; that was enough for him. He had a TV, but only watched it for weather, nothing else; a radio that was turned on only for listening to baseball games; and a phone that was only used if it had to be, other than that it just hung on the wall. Those things didn’t mean much to him. What did matter was taking care of his animals, his garden, and folks who needed his help.

He’d say, “When you stop living for yourself and start living for others, you become an adult. For childhood ends with egotism, maturity begins when one lives for others.” I rewrote what my grandfather said and turned it in for a junior high reading class. My teacher was very impressed. My grandfather never got credit, nor did I, but I heard she did.

Ah, well, back to the story. That first night at his house, we went off to bed early cause we had a full day ahead of us. The bedroom we slept in was off to the side of the parlor. He would leave the doors open so the heat from the potbelly stove that stood in the middle of the large parlor would keep us warm (that and the handmade quilts). As I lay in the bed, I could see the warm red glow of the stove after the lights went out. For some reason it would put me to sleep. Maybe it was the thought of its warmth. All I know is, I felt an ease and comfort just watching it.

And yes, he finally had indoor plumbing put in, which was a comfort too, considering that foot of snow that was already on the ground – and more to come.