I saw this on Facebook earlier today and was instantly transported back in time to Sundays at my grandma’s house.
We used to go there late Sunday morning/early Sunday afternoon. I’d run up the steps to Grandma’s door and wait excitedly for her to open up for us. Then it was a big hug and a rush into her place.
It always smelled of fresh-baked breads and cookies. We’d go into her pantry and get into the bread and bacon buns. If we came around lunch, she’d have a big pot of homemade soup ready to go with the homemade bread. Oh, the thought of that simple meal makes my mouth water.
Then we’d sit in the living room and listen to mom and grandma talk. Eventually, we’d drift out of one upstairs door and go down the short hall to the other door that lead to my aunt’s (grandma’s eldest daughter’s) apartment and visit with my aunt and uncle.
Those family Sundays were always so wonderful. You could feel the love.
Now, they’re all memories because all the players — mom, dad, grandma, aunt, and uncle — have been deceased for many years. Ah, but the memories. They never die, do they? ♥