I'm missing my deceased grandparents right now. We have some of their dishes in our cabinets, and every time I use them, I think fondly of them.
My older sister and brother and I spent a week with our mom's parents the Christmas I was 7 years old. All I think of are happy memories and feeling secure and safe with them.
Grandma had a nightlight at the desk in the living room that glowed red when all the other lights were off. Their clock measured time like a soft metronome all night.
We watched Christmas parades and the Lawrence Welk show on TV that week.
Grandma made fabulous Red Hot popcorn that I've never been able to duplicate.
Their small tree in the kitchen over the basement staircase was full of ornaments Grandpa had carved from wood, and some Grandma had made with plastic canvas and yarn, all shining bright among the strands of colored lights.
Their house is where we learned to carve wood. Grandpa also helped me make a set of doll furniture.
Their 4 acres and a creek were a fabulous playground for yard games and for watching little critters and big critters.
Sometimes we spent the night in their camper for fun--or maybe they just didn't want to hear our noise--but it was fun anyway.
We had family reunions there with Grandma's woven paper plate holders. We also had numerous Thanksgiving dinners in their 3-seasons room, with every meal ending in a string of jokes from Grandpa.
Part of me wants to go repurchase the home and property they owned on the West side of Indianapolis.
Another part of me is sensible to the fact that I'll never be able to recreate my exact memories for my children. All I can do is make good ones with them now.
The past is in the past, but the memories are warm and sweet. And I can keep using Grandma and Grandpa's dishes and thinking fondly of them.