Spoiled. Totally spoiled.

I was spoiled. Totally. Hope my cousins never see my blog. I was an only child, and my grandmother’s baby. Easter time? I didn’t just get one big basket. I got 3. Christmas stockings? At least 2 from gran. Full to the brim. As a child at least, I only got 1 as an adult. Yes, I was spoiled.

You have to understand, under Gran’s tree (often ceramic and beautiful) the table overflowed with presents. New bf/gf, they got a present. Husbands/wives yep, they got presents. Packages were often super decorative. Fancy bows often with treats attached: little bags of chocolate coins, a small toy. We usually combined with my aunt’s family for Christmas, which meant 3 girls all around the same age. When we opened packages together, no one was different. If one girl got a doll from grandma, we all got one. Different styles, but still the same. Share and share alike. But that was only the story when we were actually “together”.
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Cold Feet, Warm Tortillas

Gran’s place always somehow seemed magical. From the circle of flowers to the faded yellow porch with the maca to rock on. I know now that it was an old, worn-down house, on an old-run down farm. Now it’s condos and tract homes. But I still remember where my tree house stood, where the lamb’s pen and the tire swing were. I still remember cold feet in the mornings and the taste of warm tortillas.

No two rooms were done the same, any carpet was threadbare; the linoleum old and worn, wood floors painted bright aqua, thick in spots where previous paint wasn’t sanded off. Gran kept her slippers beside her bed and never put her bare feet on the floor, but I was young. Old enough to do what I wanted, young enough to not care about the cold.
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