14 Quiet Moments From Grandma’s House That Prove Some Places Stay With Us Forever

• My parents were always on business trips, and I spent my entire childhood with my grandmother. She baked delicious treats and never scolded me. Then I grew up and started traveling frequently myself.
  Recently, I returned to an empty apartment and felt the absence of that feeling of being awaited. And suddenly, as if sensing this, my grandmother called and invited me over. She cooked some pies, gave me a hug, and I didn’t even argue when she said, “You will always be my little one.”

• My brother and I arrived at our grandmother’s house, sat down to eat, and Grandma started serving. She served my brother first. As usual, his plate was filled to the brim.
  I wasn’t hungry and asked for half the amount. She looked at me disapprovingly, then took a larger plate, piled twice as much onto it, gave it to my brother, and placed his plate in front of me.

That’s how our grandma calls us for tea. Love and cherish your grandmas while they’re around.

• As a child, I used to visit my grandmother in the village. She cooked something delicious in the kitchen and asked me to help.
  She sent me to the garden, telling me to bring her mint, saying I’d definitely know where it was because it smelled great. I went there, picked the first greens I came across, and sniffed them. They seemed to smell normal, so I picked a lot and proudly brought it to my grandmother.
  She was really surprised because it wasn’t mint, but young carrots that hadn’t even ripened yet. Apparently, I wasn’t a very good helper because my grandmother never asked me for anything else again.

• Usually, if I plan to visit my granny, I call her a couple of days in advance. I pick up some groceries, take along a bit of money. I arrive and there’s a full spread.
  She’s made meat in the oven, just how I like it, with cheese, potatoes, and onions, plus a salad, pickles, and homemade fruit punch. I look at all of it and feel sorry for her. She’s 86 years old, and she’s spent so much energy cooking.
  Now, for the past year, I only call her an hour before I arrive, to check what groceries she might need and so she doesn’t have time to cook. She takes offense that her grandson leaves her house hungry. I’ve tried to explain why I’m doing it this way, but she still gets upset.

• In my childhood, I often visited my grandmother. She had a balcony, while my parents and I lived on the first floor, and we didn’t have this luxury.
  Most often, I went to Grandma’s when it was warm, and I loved spending time with her on that balcony. We would bring a couple of chairs and some tea, and chat about everything. What I loved most was the time before the rain.
  First, clouds would gather, gradually filling the sky with dark gray. Then the swallows would come. And every time they appeared, I would say that rain was coming soon. We sat on the balcony watching them, the clouds, and the trees.
  Then we would go watch TV and drink tea. It was a nice time.

• Grandma’s apartment had so many interesting things: an old China cabinet with various little boxes and teacups that you were never allowed to touch, and colorful carpets in every room. But what I loved most was the table.
  Old, seemingly older than Grandma herself, it stood on 4 crooked legs. A long, time-yellowed tablecloth hung all the way to the floor, covering everything that happened underneath. And that was my little home.
  I would bring pillows from Uncle’s room there. The TV light acted as my lantern, and a nearby chair served as both a table and a window. I loved sleeping there the most: I’d lay on a pillow, cover myself with a blanket, and fall asleep.
  Then I’d get up covered in feathers and dust, yet feeling happy. And after a nap, it’s good to eat something. That’s how I spent my time, reading books there.

For many years, I couldn’t convince my grandmother to renovate. She’s already at a venerable age, and she’s afraid of change and inconvenience. But if you take a closer look, her world is very beautiful and warm in its own way. I took a few photos to remember it.

• I was looking through the photos, and nostalgia washed over me. I remember how the summer terrace at Grandma’s house was never quiet. Every summer, children and grandchildren would gather at her home.
  Visiting Grandma was a tradition. We picked apples, currants, and strawberries and made jam. We watered the garden every evening and made salads from homegrown vegetables.
  The best part was the family dinner on the summer terrace. Grandma would cook a delicious dinner, and my sister would make pizza and apple pie. We would all sit around the table, eat, and have a heartfelt conversation.
  There was also a piano there, and my sister would play until night fell. It was so much fun; these memories warm my heart. Summer is coming soon, and that means we’ll all be gathering again on Grandma’s summer terrace.

• After my grandmother passed away, I inherited the apartment, which I decided to sell. I spent my entire childhood there, often running away from my mom to this place.
  For like 2 years after that, maybe more, I kept having this dream where I’d just let myself into that apartment, even though I knew other people lived there now. And every time, I got lucky — no one was home, the locks hadn’t been changed, and everything inside was just as it used to be. Even the same treats were in the fridge.
  And there I would sit in my dream, for a couple of hours, realizing I’d stayed there too long and it was time to leave. Then I’d wake up.

The village. It’s raining outside. My grandmother is playing with my son, then she teaches him how to wrap pastries. I’m devouring pancakes made with homemade cottage cheese, and in the evening, I’ll go for a bike ride. Isn’t it happiness?

• After the wedding, I visited Grandma. She had prepared salads and baked pies. She handed me my old robe. I said, “Grandma, this is like 10 years old!” She just laughed.
  I’m sitting there, eating heartily, and then there’s a knock on the door: her friend came over with her son. After they left, I couldn’t help but ask, “Grandma, why didn’t you tell me we were having guests? I would’ve at least changed and fixed my hair. I’m all disheveled after the road!”
  She replied, looking surprised, “Why? You’re beautiful just as you are.” How can you be mad at her?

• My sister and I often stayed over at our grandmother’s house. It was located on a small hill, with blue shutters and white patterns. In summer, many different flowers grew around the house, while in winter, it was a cozy, warm, and homely place hidden under a white cap of snow. During the day, we would go sledding near a neighbor’s house, and in the evening, we had to do homework and get ready for school.
  You had to enter the house through a long entrance hall, where there was a metal latch at the door. To lift it, you needed to pull a string, and the latch would make a short, cheerful sound. A broom stood by the entrance to brush off the clinging snow.
  As you walked in, you immediately felt the warmth of the stove and the aroma of fried potatoes with onions and sour cream. The bright yellow floor was evenly painted, with colorful rugs cozily nestled on it.
  Snow-white curtains hung at the windows and flowers were set in 2 rows on the window sills. The table and the stove, which was covered in a tin sheet and painted with silver paint, were in the kitchen, where our grandmother slept.
  In the middle of the room, a turquoise lampshade with tassels hung, and a vanity stood on the table. Beds with large, fluffed-up pillows were stacked one on top of the other. Next to the beds was a small dresser.

At grandma’s in the village

• I was probably around 6 years old. My grandmother was baking pies, and I was hanging around in the kitchen, getting in the way. She sent me to the room, and gave me some clay to keep me occupied.
  I sculpted a little figure for her — crooked, a bit scary, something between a person and a mushroom. I presented it to her solemnly. She placed it on the shelf in the cabinet next to the porcelain figurines. I forgot about it the next day.
  But last week, we were sorting through her things after my grandmother passed away. It turned out that the figurine was still there. It had stood there for 30 years. I never expected to be so overwhelmed by a piece of clay.

Grandma is waiting for you.

• The screech of a chainsaw outside the summer house window, squares of sunlight on the floor, and you are sinking into the featherbed. The creak of the wooden door — Grandma is calling you to the terrace for breakfast. Pancakes are already frying in the old cast iron skillet.
  About a year after Grandma passed away, I accidentally found her tablecloth at home, which I took from her apartment. I picked it up, and it smelled like Grandma. And here I am sitting, buried in this tablecloth, inhaling childhood, forgetting all my worries.

• My parents would take me to the countryside for the entire summer. I never wanted to go, but I obeyed.
  But in August, I always left in tears because it was so wonderful there. The best friends and amazing nights filled with childhood adventures. These memories warm my heart even now; they were the best childhood years.
  And my grandma was gentle and very, very kind. She always tried to feed me. She had dozens of juices and preserves.
  Even at 70, she went berry picking in the forest by herself because her grandson would come in the summer. Her cellar was full: mushrooms, salads, jam, and more. She even managed to take care of the garden.

• Grandma was very proud of her apartment, which hadn’t been renovated since the 80s but was adorned with figurines and paintings. When Grandma passed away, I called a realtor for an appraisal. He came in, looked around, then turned pale and asked me to step out for a moment.
  It turned out he saw a ballerina figurine that looked remarkably similar to a rare and thought-to-be-lost piece by the expensive and prestigious European porcelain manufacturer. He wanted to check the mark and was afraid that if it was an original, he might scare me with his enthusiastic shouts.
  The figurine was not made by this manufacturer, but it was still some kind of collectible. I’m not planning to sell it yet, I’ll keep it as a memory of Grandma.