On Grandparents Day, Sep 9

National Grandparents Day in the United States

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It was the rain that made him think of the tale. The lash of it battered the windows,
stormed the rooftops and blew its bitter breath under the doors.
The damp ached in his bones even as he settled by the fire. Age sat heavily on him in the
long, wet nights of autumn—and would sit heavier still, he knew, in the dark winter to
come.
The children were gathered, huddled on the floor, squeezed by twos and threes into
chairs. Their faces were turned to his, expectant, for he’d promised them a story to chase
boredom from a stormy day.
He hadn’t intended to give them this one, not yet, for some were so young. And the tale
was far from tender. But the rain whispered to him, hissing the words he’d yet to speak.
Even a storyteller, perhaps especially a storyteller, had to listen.



Morrigan's Cross

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By Noumenon - Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, 

https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=6984216

Family Stories to Tell Your Grandchildren Again and Again

Next time your grandchild requests a story, share a personal tale from the heart.

GRANDPARENTS.COM



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When the sun dipped low in the sky, dripping the last of its fire, the children huddled

together to hear the next part of the tale. For the old man, their eager faces and wide eyes

brought the light into the room. The story he’d begun on a rainy afternoon would continue

now, as twilight settled over the land.

The fire crackled in the grate, the only sound as he sipped his wine, as he searched his mind for the right words.

Dance of The Gods

"Happy Christmas. To All of Us."

Christmas Day went by in a blur. 

She tried to imprint specific moments on her mind-Mason's sheer delight in the antique medical bag she'd found him, Harper and Austin squaring off over a foosball table. 

There was Lily's predictable fascination with boxes and wrapping rather than toys, and Hayley's joy in showing off a new pair of earrings. 

She loved seeing Logan sitting cross-legged on the floor, showing Stella's boys-his boys now-the child-sized tools inside the toolboxes he'd made them. 

She wanted to slow the clock down-just for this day, just this one day-but it sped by, from dawn and the excitement of opening gifts, to the candlelight and the lavish meal David prepared and served on her best china. 

Before she knew it, the house was quiet once more. 

She wandered down to take a last look at the tree, to sit alone in the parlor with her coffee and her memories of the day, and all the Christmases before. 

Surprised when she heard footsteps, she looked over and saw her sons. 

"I thought you'd all gone over to Harper's." 

"We were waiting for you to come down," Harper told her. 

"Come down?" 

"You always come down Christmas night, after everyone's gone to bed."

Black Rose

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Christmas can seem so loud with activity and busyness that often times, we aren't really enjoying it.  It can be such an amazing time of the year, if we just allowed ourselves time to be quiet and simply enjoy the season with family.

JOY IN THE HOME

the one thing everyone needs for happier, healthier lives

When a man reaches ninety years of living, he is tempted to look back on his life, to evaluate, to consider his triumphs and his mistakes. Often he might think, "What if I had done this instead of that?" or "If only I had that to do over."

Well, I don't have time for that kind of nonsense.

I look forward, have always done so. I'm a Scotsman who has lived most of his long life away from the land of his birth. America is my home. I have made my family and raised my children here. I have watched my grandchildren grow. For nearly sixty years I have loved one woman, lived with her, admired her, worked with her. And worked around her, when there wasn't any other way.

My Anna is all that is precious to me. Between us—well, we've had a hell of a time.

I'm a rich man. Oh, not just in dollars and possessions and property, but in family. Family comes first. That's something else that always was and always will be part of my life. 

From the Private Memoirs of Daniel Duncan MacGregor
(in The MacGregor Brides)

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My grandparents lived modestly, still in the narrow two-bedroom rowhouse where she’d raised her family since her husband returned from World War II. They didn’t travel, eat lavish meals or shop at the finest department stores. Neither had careers that followed their passions. (She would have been an amazing teacher, he an exquisite artist.) Yet, she genuinely considered herself rich because she had a husband, children and grandchildren whom she adored.

My grandmother knew what Harvard researchers have since confirmed: Relationships are the key to a happy life.

WASHINGTON POST

Beauty and Wisdom

"I can't believe how fast he's growing." 
Feeling very grandmotherly but sporting a sleek new hairstyle, Amanda sat in the bentwood rocker in Michael's new nursery and cuddled the baby.
...
"Does he?" Delighted Laura moved to stand over them. 
The baby smelled of talc -- Amanda of Paris.

Gabriel's Angel

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Culturally speaking, youth has a near-monopoly on our definition of beauty. But for photographer Robbie Kaye, the opposite is true. Her photo essay and book, Beauty and Wisdom, aims to combat ageism by documenting older women...

“Initially I was going to make these photos fun and frivolous, but in looking at the women, I realized how much dignity they had and how amazing they were,” 

YAHOO!

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And she’d had enough, Eli judged, and looked a little pale again. “What’s for lunch?”
“We should go down and find out.”
He helped her up, but when he started to lift her, she brushed him back. “I don’t need to be carried. I manage well enough with the cane.”
“Maybe, but I like playing Rhett Butler.”
“He wasn’t carrying his grandmother downstairs to lunch,” she said when Eli scooped her into his arms.
“But he would have.”

Whiskey Beach

What We've Learned From Mom About Home

He passed through the dining room where, naturally, the table was already set. She’d used festive
plates, which meant she wasn’t going for elegant or drop-in casual. Tented linen napkins, tea lights in cobalt rounds, inside a centerpiece of winter berries.


Even during the worst time, even during the Seven, he could come here and there would be fresh
flowers artfully arranged, furniture free of dust and gleaming with polish, and intriguing little soaps in the dish in the downstairs powder room.

Even hell didn’t cause Frannie Hawkins to break stride.

Maybe, Cal thought as he wandered into the living room, that was part of the reason—even the
most important reason—he got through it himself. Because whatever else happened, his mother would  be maintaining her own brand of order and sanity.

Blood Brothers

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Houzzers recall the special traits, insights and habits of their mothers

 

What makes a house, a home? For many of us, our mother is intrinsically part of the answer. Whether it's the smell of lemon furniture polish when we walk through the door, new curtains in the kitchen for every season, crisp and clean laundry hanging on the clothesline, steaming food sitting on the kitchen table or simply the presence of loved ones, Mom is usually responsible for what we equate with "home." 

HOUZZ

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It was the same, Seth thought. It didn't matter what color the walls were painted or if the old sofa had been replaced, if a new lamp stood on the table. It was the same because it felt the same.
The dog snaked around his legs and made a beeline for the kitchen.
"I want you to sit down." She nodded to the kitchen table, under which Witless was sprawled, happily gnawing on a hunk of rope.

Chesapeake Blue