When I was a little girl, sometimes we'd go to Georgia and stay with my grandparents. Sometimes we'd stay with my great-uncle and great-aunt instead, who lived just down the road, so we could visit both sets of relatives.
I can remember the little old house, gone now, surrounded by pine trees and one giant magnolia that Aunt Mary had planted years ago.
It was built into the side of a hill, so it was a sort of a split-level house with the bedrooms upstairs/first floor and the kitchen and living room downstairs/basement. The living room was filled with Beanie Babies in display cases, belonging to Aunt Mary. (Sometimes, some of those Beanies would end up going home with us). Every time we stayed, we all used the exact same rooms. Up the narrow stairs, whose walls were covered in knick knacks picked up from all over, pictures, and a caricature of Uncle Curt that Papa had drawn, there were two rooms on one side and two rooms on the other. At the end of the hall was another living-room type space. That's where Mom and Dad always stayed.
That's also the room where I was introduced to the Hardy Boys books and the show "MacGyver" in case anyone wanted to know
The first room to the left at the top of the stairs was almost like a tiny nursery, as I remember it. That's where Kayla always slept. It was filled with old dolls and model horses and picture books, and I think there might have been an old kerosene lamp hanging on the wall. I think Uncle Curt and Aunt Mary slept in the room next door to Kayla's. On the right, from the top of the stairs, there were two rooms with a bathroom in between. For the life of me, I can't recall what was in the room closest to Mom and Dad's: I think it might've been a storage room. I do, however, remember what was in the other room.
Its walls had been painted a cheery pale purple, and there was white moulding that matched the dresser. There were two little beds with matching purple blankets and pillows in that room, and Aunt Mary would put these three stuffed cats in there. The white one was always on Meredith's bed (the one closest to the door), the grey one was always on my bed (the one closest to the wall) and the black one would sit in the middle of the dresser. There was also a wicker basket on the wood floor in the corner with more stuffed animals in it.
In between the two little beds was a little white nightstand with a lamp. Next to the lamp was a stack of books ranging from the Berenstein Bears to the movie novelization of the first Star Wars movie. (I assume that one of my older cousins left that there.) Meredith and I, being dramatic five/six year olds, liked to call the purple room "Our Apartment. It made nighttime almost as much fun as daytime.
Daytime in Georgia meant a lot of things, but what sticks out the most in my early childhood memories is this:
Going to Papa and Nana's house, and Papa would read us the "funnies" while Mom and Dad talked to Nana, or else Mom and Dad would talk with Papa and Nana would slip us kids cookies. (Then we would usually retreat to the basement with our cousins to play "Don't Wake the Mummy": a bizarre but beloved game. That, by the way, is also the place where I discovered Power Rangers and Transformers).
Daytime at Uncle Curt and Aunt Mary's house meant playing Barbie Dolls with Aunt Mary in the study in the big old "Barbie's Dream House" they used to have. When we tired of that, we little ones would play in the driveway with chalk and balls and jump ropes and Little Tykes cars until the fireflies came out.
Some of my favorite memories of Uncle Curt and Aunt Mary's house, however, are of mornings.
Meredith and I did not learn the concept of "sleeping in" until we were in middle school, I'm sad to say. I'm not sure how the tradition got started, but I can't remember ever breaking it: we'd wake up at the same time every morning, grin at each other from the piles of blankets, and throw on our clothes. Then we'd tiptoe out of our room, since everyone was still asleep, and try not to giggle as we bumped down the stairs, holding each other's hands. At the bottom of the staircase, we would look up to the high-backed old armchair where Uncle Curt would be reading his newspaper.
That I recall, he wouldn't say anything most mornings. He'd just lay down the paper and his eyes would twinkle, and Meredith and I would climb up into the chair with him. Sometimes we'd ask him to read us the comics section, but that was something we normally did with Papa. The three of us would all be squished into that plaid chair for a little while, then he would stand up and we'd follow him into the kitchen, where he'd make breakfast. Sometimes it was cereal, sometimes it was oatmeal, but normally it was scrambled eggs with bits of ham and cheese thrown in. To this day, we still call those "Uncle Curt Omelettes" at my house.
He'd stand at the stove, scrambling eggs, and smile while my sister and I would chatter on about everything and nothing-as small children will. We always ate together at that tiny table, and he would explain things to us like, no, the bran cereal that Aunt Mary likes is not made of cardboard and yes, those are the same kinds of mugs that Nana and Papa have. One time, I opened the refrigerator to get some milk and I grabbed eggnog by mistake. He told me what it was, and-seeing as I was a little Curious George- I asked if I could try some. His eyes twinkled, and he said I could. I quickly regretted it, and he laughed.
Sometimes he would tell us the story of how he didn't want to jump out of an airplane when he was a soldier during WWII. "I can't do it sir," he'd said, "It's against my religion!" And when he got to the part where the other man asked him what his religion was, we knew as well as he that the answer was, "Orthodox coward!" And of course, he was nothing of the sort. This was the same man who my dad's sister thought was tougher than tornadoes when she was little. She actually thought (and I would have too if I'd thought of it) that Uncle Curt and Aunt Mary's house was the only safe place during a tornado because the tornado would be too afraid of Uncle Curt to mess with his house.
After breakfast, when we'd helped clear the dishes as much as little kids can, we'd go back to the living room and that big old armchair.
I think sometimes that Uncle Curt must've had the patience of Job, because every morning after breakfast, he'd sit there with us and watch the Disney version of Robin Hood. Every. Single. Morning. Sometimes we even watched it twice in one day! Frankly, I'm surprised the tape didn't break. By the time the movie got to the archery contest, everyone else was usually awake, and Mom and Aunt Mary would come down and pretend to be surprised that we were watching Robin Hood again. We little girls would prattle on nonsensically to them and soon enough we'd be sent outside to play.
I remember that Uncle Curt had a workshop next to the garage, and he'd upholster furniture in there. Generally, if he was in his workshop, we didn't bother him. Still, I vaguely remember some times that I would leave my jump rope and chalk and just stand in the doorway, watching him. I always felt safe around Uncle Curt, even in a room full of hammers and nails and other tools of upholstery. Sometimes, he'd gently shoo me back outside to play with my sisters, but once he looked down at us and said, "Pick out a cloth you like." Meredith chose a pretty blue-and-white checkered pattern, Kayla chose (or one of us chose for her, as she was a toddler) a dark red and green pattern, and I chose a dusty pink paisley-looking thing. He made little pillows for each of us from the cloth we'd picked, and we still have them.
One of my absolute favorite pictures of Uncle Curt was taken when I was about seven years old. He didn't even know it had been taken at the time. In it, it's late evening and the fireflies are coming out. Kayla is about three years old, and is trundling along in her bright red walker. Next to her, Uncle Curt is walking with his hands behind his back as they go out looking for lightning bugs. Both of them had their backs to the camera. It's one of the sweetest things I've ever seen.
Someday, I will be an Aunt. When I am, I think I will start a "breakfast club" with whichever little nieces or nephews want to get up early and goof off without waking their parents.
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