Grandpa's Home
I have been sitting here trying to think of what I should
write about my life. I can’t think of anything so maybe my life is over, and I
just don’t know it. There are a lot of things that I don’t understand any more,
and I’m not sure that I want to. I would ask around, but it is not good for me
to go outside with the allergies, and there aren’t any people outside now
because of the pandemic. I am going to have my head lasered tomorrow, maybe
that will help.
My brain reminds me of the old TV set. TV didn’t come on all
day and on many channels. It had a test pattern that would come on, and that
would be all that was on until a certain time when a program would come on.
That is what it is like for me sometimes. I just sit here, and then finally my
brain leaves the holding test pattern and turns on. Now back to the story, such
as it is.
Albert Owen Stubbs with Mail bag 1948 Colorized by myheritage.com |
This event was every bit as much a part of our Sunday as the
three church meetings we had already gone to. It was really enjoyable to be
there with so many of my aunts, uncles, and cousins. The extended family
attendance at this get together was somewhat better than at the meetings at the
church. I think that one reason my dad went was because he was the bishop and
could see each family member and they could see him. Also, Grandpa had invited
him, and it was kind of a time for Dad to make peace with his father.
I really enjoyed being at my grandfather’s home. My dad had
planted grapes all along the fence on one side of the yard, and the water
overflow from the cooler on top of the house ran down and watered them. I used
to play along the fence with my cousin Richard Stubbs. It was cooler than
anywhere else in the summer to hang out. There was an old wooden garage off to
the side, and in the back of it was nailed up a basketball standard. We could
play there as long as the older uncles weren’t there wanting to play. To
explain, there were three uncles that were still in school. They were Afton’s
sons, and there were some older cousins that were their age also.
I remember when the basketball, which was pretty smooth, got
a hole in it, so we didn’t have anything to play with. We weren’t allowed to
play with the good balls that belonged to our uncles. We took the ball up to
the gas station and the attendant there buffed it up, put a little glue and a
patch on it, and after a few minutes pumped it back up, and we were ready to go
again.
That is probably about the time that I realized how poor we
were. We had gotten a smooth ball patched so we would have something to play
with. Nowadays if a ball just gets low, it is time to buy a new one. We are so
spoiled with so many things to buy, and no idea how to repair the old ones.
The lot in the backyard was dirt, and so it was great for
drawing a circle on the ground and playing marbles, and when we got more
ambitious, we dug a small hole in the center and four holes around the corners
and played pots or poison. Poison, was a great game, a little like Parcheesi, especially
since we could make up different rules each time we played. The only problem
with marbles was it was in the direct sunlight. The only time the adults would
be upset was on Saturday when they got together to do the wash in the back yard
and had to work around the holes that kept magically appearing.
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