Day 327...

My grandparents.

G'ma & G'pa Greene.

Grandma Muskie.

and my Grampie. 

The smell of pipe tobacco reminds me of My Grampie...Grandpa Graignic. I remember his house in Seattle and Christmastime surrounded by uncles, aunts and cousins, playing chutes and ladders in the living room, and my older cousin reading the lines of my palm; casting my future.

Grandma Moskovita...Gramma Muskie. I believe my love of willow trees began with her. Her home in Everett, Washington had what I remember to be the biggest, most incredible willow tree hanging its lovely weeping branches over the driveway. I always felt like the tree was welcoming me into a secret hideaway as my mother eased the car up the drive.

My Grandparents Greene...best remembered in the following poem, (written under my pen name Kerin Riley-Bishop, and which appeared in the Silver Boomer Books anthology From the Porch Swing - memories of our grandparents:

Caramels and Ginger Ale

Memory can be brutal; invasive,

or tenderly nudge its way in.

White Shoulders.

Tall trees.

Winding driveway in the woods.

Horses in green pasture.

Scent of grease and gasoline.

His perfect white flat-top,

soft and tempting to our fingers;

patting grandfather’s head as long as allowed.

Baby doll.

Old black leather trunk.

Dark paneled walls,

highboy dresser, chenille bedspread

and the end table next to the sofa;

glass bowl crowded with Kraft Caramels.

“Karen, would you like some ginger ale?”

“Yes, please, Grandma!”