This week, my elementary school students and I have been writing about small moments we have shared with our grandparents. My moment, of course, was about food. I thought I’d share it with you.
A Golden Feast
Sun beams tickle my nose as they dance through the lace curtains my grandma and I picked out together last summer. I stretch as I yawn, my toes pressing deeper into the embrace of a homemade quilt. Morning always comes early at Grandma’s house, but somehow I still wake refreshed.
As I listen, I hear the clamoring of pans in the kitchen, just down the hall. A sweet smell greets me. It’s a pancake morning. Knowing the sound of Grandma’s work well, I recognize her pancake dance is well underway, with her tiny feet fluttering back and forth between the stove and sink.
Pushing the satin edge of the blanket down from my face, I slip out of bed and scurry to the kitchen. Grandma’s famous Texas-sized pancakes glisten like the sun on her blackened griddle. They call my name with their sizzling hiss.
From behind me, I hear Grandpa shout in from the living room, his voice rising above his banjo to let Grandma know she’d better make me two. Apparently, I look especially hungry. Sounds of “K-K-K-Katie my pretty lady” float in as he winks at me.
Within moments, we sit shoulder to shoulder at the table, Grandma and Grandpa on their pink-padded chairs, me teetering on the coveted painted-spattered stool. My pancakes’ otter-like flippers dangle over the edges of my enormous plate, daring me to devour them.
Grandpa smiles knowingly as he sips his coffee. He doesn’t need a plate of pancakes, for while I can confidently smear pounds of butter and drizzle oceans of hot syrup over the steaming cakes, I can never finish Grandma’s golden feast. The reward of placing the order will soon be his.