Wednesdays With Gramma
Wednesdays, or rather Wednesday nights, have always been a very special time in my family.
Our grandmother lived next door, her house being separated from ours only by the sunflowers fields, so every Wednesday after dark, my brother, sister, and I would trek across the field to Gramma’s house. A warm night with a full moon was a real treat as the pathway through the field before us would be brightly illuminated and the three of us would skip across the field like Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins, singing “Chim-Chim-Cheree.”
When it was cold and the snow piled up higher than our shoes, we would forgo the journey across the field choosing instead to pile into the pickup truck. Whatever method we chose of getting to Gramma’s on Wednesday night, we always carried the same two items; medicine for her cat and the evening’s chosen movie. Being homeschooled children, we never had to worry about missing Wednesday with Gramma because of homework or bedtime.
Upon entering Gramma’s house, my siblings and I would be greeted by Gramma’s friendly, “Hi guys, come on in,” accompanied by the tantalizing aroma of the microwave popcorn Gramma had already started cooking. Having been raised on kettle corn at home, Gramma’s microwave popcorn was a true novelty. While Gramma and I brought out bowls for the popcorn in the kitchen, my brother and sister would give the cat her medicine in the living room. The microwave would sound with a “BING!” while my brother was sliding the movie into the VCR. Without further ado, the popcorn was brought into the living room, everyone chose a space on the couch, and Wednesday with Gramma would begin.
We would pass around blankets and pillows and refills of popcorn. The cat would make her usual rounds, sitting on each person’s lap in turn and hoping for popcorn handouts. Sometimes our aunt and uncle would come to visit Gramma on Wednesday, and they would stay for part of the movie.
It never mattered what we watched; it was about the time we spent to together watching it. Sometimes it was a Shirley Temple classic, other times it was a Harrison Ford thriller, and once in a while we’d watch something like Pirates of the Caribbean (okay, so maybe we enjoyed that one a little more than Gramma did). At Christmas time it was Bing Crosby and Jimmy Stewart; Mom usually joined us for those. In March, when the spring was struggling to break free of the winter’s chill, it was always time to watch The Secret Garden as a reminder that warm days were on their way; Mom never missed that one either.
As March would give way to spring and the days grew ever longer, my siblings and I would spend much of our time fitting the fields and planting the crops for the year’s harvest. Our Wednesday nights would grow more seldom and we would pick shorter movies on Wednesday to account for the dwindling nights. When the days stretched longer still and our plantings grew in the field, the sunflowers would begin to bloom and our Wednesday nights were replaced by evenings of turning flowers into bouquets to sell at the market. It was always during that frenzied time of year that the Wednesdays with Gramma were put on hold.
All through the summer, the flowers continued to bloom while everyone ran around like crazy. We would use any excuse we could find just to go up to Gramma’s at midday so we could be in her air-conditioned house. Sometimes it seemed as though the cool and calm days of fall would never come, but certain as the sun will rise, the wheel of the seasons would eventually begin to turn.
The leaves on the trees would cast off their dapper green cloaks of summer, replaced by the fiery reds and yellows of autumn. The sunflower amounts would dwindle, allowing us the pleasure of crawling into bed before the clock read 4:00 AM. The corn would be harvested and safely shocked for the winter and the peace and quiet of the season would settle in.
Our mouths would begin to water at the thought of the microwave popcorn we’d not had all summer, and we could almost taste that first buttery handful. And once the air-conditioners were put away and the other neighborhood children returned to school, when the apple cider was pressed and the pumpkins were carved, when the sun grew low in the sky giving length to the nights, we would happily know that it was once again time to resume our Wednesdays with Gramma.
Copyright © Amber Reifsteck ~ The Woodland Elf
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