Every Saturday my Mom, two brothers, two sisters and I would climb into the old gray station wagon and head off to (maternal) Grandma’s house. We lived on the east side of Columbus, Ohio and Grandma lived on the west side. We had to travel down the side roads because those were the days before interstates and outerbelts. It seemed to take forever but in reality it was about 30/40 minutes.  We made it in time to watch our favorite shows:  Sky King, The Lone Ranger, My Friend Flicka, and Johnny Quest.  We would get comfortable lying on the floor watching the old black and white TV.  Good shows with good messages.

Grandma had the best lunches. Some of my favorites:  fried bologna sandwiches and homemade bean soup; homemade fried mush with syrup; peanut butter & jelly open-faced sandwiches (we had jam at home) and homemade vegetable soup. Grandma made most of her food from scratch. Her pies were out of this world.  One of my favorites was lemon meringue.  She made her own crust using lard (before the days of worrying about “fats” in your diet). Her cooking was divine. As an adult, I’m amazed that she would take the time to cook for us every week.  I don’t even like cooking prepared food and it takes real effort for me to make anything from scratch. Even then, my food does not compare to my Grandmother’s or my mother’s cooking. 

Lunch was when my grandfather came home from his Saturday bowling league. We all sat down in the large dining room with the big table, bureau, and china cabinet to enjoy the feast set before us. We had real plates and silverware, nothing paper or plastic. While we were eating our lunch, on the bureau was a row of five nickels. Every week when we arrived at Grandma’s, the nickels were already laid out just waiting for us to finish our meal. We never asked for them ahead of time. It was the standard to wait until after lunch when we each received our own nickel. We were grateful every Saturday for the nickel because the little silver coin represented a whole bag full of candy from the corner store. After clean-up, our adventure to the store would begin as Mom headed out to go shopping for the afternoon.

Grandma lived about halfway from the corner store. We were allowed to venture down to the store by ourselves; BUT, in between Grandma’s house and the store, was “the witch’s” house. We would walk/skip about 4 houses down and then take off “like a bat out of hell” because we didn’t want the witch to get us.  I swear she was watching us every week from her windows.  I was terrified but I had to consider the chances of the witch getting me or me getting my candy. Since I could run really fast, every week the lure of the candy won that battle. After getting past the witch’s house, we would proceed to walk the rest of the way to the corner.

In the store, was a display window with all kinds of penny candy.  But it wasn’t just one piece of candy for one penny. As I recall, some were 3 or 4 items for a penny. That nickel netted us a bag full of candy every week. There would be  candy necklaces, pixie sticks, candy cigarettes, smarties, candy buttons on paper, Necco wafers, sugar daddy suckers, and wax lips to name a few. We would fill up our brown paper bag in anticipation of the sweet treats just waiting for us.

Now of course, we had to get back to Grandma’s house so the journey begins again where we had to run past the witch’s house. Good thing we had good food as fuel for our bodies to make the trip every week.

Once back at Grandma’s we would lay out our candy. Examine it, trade it, and eat it. We were allowed to eat all of it if we wanted. I don’t think we ever did, though.

Later, I realized our Saturday trip to Grandma’s house was Mom’s retreat from dealing with five kids all the time. It gave us time with our grandparents and gave Mom a break. It gave us memories that you can’t put a price on. As we grew older, sometimes we skipped a Saturday here and there. But even as teenagers, we always got our nickel and our candy and, we still ran past the witch’s house. 

I should tell you that a witch really didn’t live in the house we ran past every week. In fact, it was just an abandoned house. All those years, nobody came in or out and nobody ever bought the place.  After my Grandfather passed away, my Grandmother moved to the east side of Columbus so my Mom could help her since Grandma never learned to drive unless you count the time she drove up the cemetery steps.  That was her one and only attempt to drive.  Grandma was born in 1895 and died in 1992, and was 97 years old when she left this world.

My grandmother was around 5’2” or 5’ 3” and maybe 115-120 lbs. Not sure how tall she was when she died because she seemed to shrink or maybe we all just got so tall.  My brothers are over 6 ft. tall. Grandma loved her hard candy, her soaps, going to lunch, church, reading, and just being with family. She was quiet and kind. In her later years, she always wore her sweater.  It’s funny because from the time I was a little girl until she died, Grandma always looked the same to me. She was never young but yet never aged as well. She was always Grandma.  It has been many years now since she has physically gone but when you are loved, you are never forgotten. Your spirit lives on.  It’s not the number of years you have on earth; it’s what you do with the years you have. I still miss you and love you Grandma and cherish my memories of “Off to Grandmother’s house we go.”

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