From Grandmother's House

Leaving Grandmother's house, we went through the woods and crossed back over the Ottauquechee River.  The snow sparkled in the headlights, but there hadn't been enough over the long weekend for us to play in.  No sledding, no snowball fights, not a lot of fun.  That's how I'll remember that Thanksgiving, not a lot of fun.

The week before, Mom got a letter.  "It's from your Grandmother."

"Gee, Mom, is it about our Thanksgiving visit?" I asked.  "We always have a great time."

"Lets see," she replied.  As she read, she turned away, stepping out of the living room into the kitchen.

"What's it about Mom?  Is it a mystery like in Nancy Drew?"

"No dear, just something Grandmother wanted to tell me before our visit."  Mom didn't sound too happy about it.

As usual when we were all in the car, I was in the seat behind Mom.  My little brother Richard was to my right, in his car seat.  Asleep already.

I could see smoke rising from the chimney of a farm house we were passing.  It triggered a memory.

"Mom, I just realized that Granddad didn't have a fire in the fireplace this year.  He didn't seem to have a very good time."

"No dear, I don't think he did.  He may have forgotten the fire.  But I'm really glad that we got to spend time with him.  Your Granddad's getting on, so every chance we have, we'll visit."

"How could Granddad forget the fire?"

"Oh honey, I'm so sorry.  I didn't want to spoil the holiday for you.  You're old enough though, to learn what was in your Grandmother's letter last week."

Mom used one of those big rambling words.  Since then, I've wished that I never had to learn what it meant.