That’s so sweet. And it’s exactly how P peels his apples

Shan’s last blog post..friday flashback – the purse edition with bonus meme

Hee hee…yup, that sounds like my grandfather too. A big ole softie at heart

I hope that you are doing well! I haven’t stopped by in a while!

Lulu’s last blog post..Thursday Thirteen: Angels in the Outfield

Doing great Lulu, thanks! Always nice to see you

Gayle @ The White House’s last blog post..Love Thursday: Dogs

Lucky indeed; so many of your grandfathers smoked pipes! My mother’s dad did, but I never smelled it because he quit by the time I knew him–she remembers it though

odessa’s last blog post..five things

Oh this is just lovely Odessa; thank you so much for sharing! How wonderful that you always had such support in your writing

Chel’s last blog post..Bit of honey…

That’s too funny…you really couldn’t escape the ice cream addiction!

Chel’s last blog post..Wordless Wednesday – 14 Years

Aw, grandfathers get blamed for everything At least they did in my house….

I was close to my Mother’s father, as I grew up a block from him and have so many good memories of him and my Gram, they were almost like typical “TV show” grandparents.

My Dad’s Dad passed away 2 months after I was born. From stories I have heard, he was no body to fool around with and wasn’t the most humerous man in the room at any given time, but when it came to kids and having family around him, he shined. My Pap’s brother said to me a few times that my Pap would have loved me, that he liked the kind of person that I am. It gives me a good feeling inside.

I’m very fortunate that both of my boys are close with all three of their Paps now(my Dad and my wife’s Dad and Step-Dad) and will have great personal memories of them years from now to look back upon.

I’m loving all these grandfather stories too…I’m so happy I brought it up

Your boys are very lucky to have great parents and great grandparents, and hey, at least one fabulous great-grandparent that I know of

But as for memories with a grandfather – oh, I can’t even begin to tell you how many I have.

My special bond was with my mother’s father – Poppy. Not only was I the first grandchild in the family, but I was the first girl. Boy, I had it made! When I was two years old, my grandfather bought a Cadillac for me (well, it was for him, but he said it was for me!) that he eventually offered to me when I was of driving age, which I declined to take at the time because of gas prices (one of the more stupid moves of my life, I should have kept it!). He would take me for drives in that car. He called it “The Big C” – we’d take the Caddy all over and I would be standing on the front seat, behind his right shoulder as he drove.

We went to the diner, to the mall, to the grocery store, wherever. I loved being with him in that car. I think that’s where I got my wanderlust from, as he was a “traveler” in his mind, since he never actually went anywhere far from home.

I remember his silver hair, which as a child, I would comb as I stood behind him in the chair in the kitchen. I would whip his hair into swirls on the top of his head, comb it forward over his eyes, part it to the side, slick it all back – whatever I wanted to do, he let me. I would sit in the basement and watch him work on his train board. I would sit on the stoop of his house in the Bronx and talk to him while he tinkered on his car.

I was the only grandchild who always slept over their house. I’d watch my Poppy cut chicken into cubes to make his own version of “Southern Fried” chicken even though he’d never been to the South. He smelled like cigarettes and Aramis. He was a welder in his youth, and would still take out his welding helmet every now and again to work on something in the basement. He always told me not to stare at the light, but I would steal glimpses of it because I wanted to see what he was doing. His neck muscles were extremely strong since back in the day those helmets were heavy and they’d have to flick them up to see what they had just welded.

He taught me how to play guitar and I could listen and watch him for hours as his calloused fingers slid over the frets, making beautiful music. He would always give me one of his favorite guitar picks when he played. I can see him sitting at the kitchen table in “his” chair – the wall next to him covered with scraps of papers that he wrote quotes on. He had a small pad by his seat that he would jot down ideas on. And he always had a big magnifying glass at the ready, in case he had to scour something small.

Wow…sorry I’ve written so much, but this really made me think. In fact, now I’m going to do my very own post on this subject. My grandfather died 20 years ago this October, when I was 21 years old, but like you the memories stay alive and fresh. Thank you for the post and the great picture.

Salena’s last blog post..Sun Setting Over Lake Pontchartrain

Loooooove it! So looking forward to reading more at your place

I didn’t know either of my grandfathers well…both my grandmothers were divorced (weird, huh?). I never met my father’s father…I did meet my mother’s father, but he wasn’t very involved with us at all. I think I met him maybe three times…they lived in PA and we lived in MA. Funny thing: My parents stayed married til my Mom’s death in 2005 and I was divorced twice. Guess it skips a generation.

Janet’s last blog post..tattoos and an almost full moon

Well Janet, my maternal grandparents were divorced, my paternal grandparents certainly could’ve been had they believed in it, and my parents are divorced…hmm…I wonder why I’m not running down the aisle….