"We always" - such a comforting phrase and what a beautiful, evocative piece this is.
I've noticed that younger nieces and nephews who are new adults use "we always" even if I know that certain events only happened once or twice. No need to correct them.
Love this! Mine was also my grandparents’ place, in rural Connecticut. We always stopped for cheeseburgers and root beer floats on the drive up, always had a family reunion at my great-uncle’s dairy farm (with baked beans and steamed brown bread accompanying the bbq), always caught fire flies and kept them briefly in leaf-stuffed mason jars as night lights. Those were the best, longest summers.
Why do happy stories make us cry? This “we always” memory-story evokes such nostalgic memories of my own childhood visits to my North Dakota grandparents farm in the summer, where we always drank sulferish tasting well water from metal cups, and always watched Grandma make cinnamon rolls from scratch in the tiny kitchen, and always stayed up till 11pm to watch fireworks my dad and uncles set off when the sky finally was dark enough. So many “always” moments that can never be again…thank you, Deb, for bringing them back for a teary visit. ❤️❤️❤️
We have a place like that — my grandfather built this cabin on a lake north of Spokane. Still in the family; Mom and I are headed for a family reunion there this weekend. So many memories but one is the endless board games with cousins — Monopoly and Risk spread out on the carpet for days.
Now I can taste both Lebanon bologna and those licky stars, quite the sandwich for a Monday morning. This took me back to the hayloft, an impossibly itchy and sweet-smelling place where my sisters and I spent many hot hours, sliding bales into walls and hallways and lounging on the prickly furniture. xo
I really loved this piece! So evocative. "We always" could be made into a film, in all of its vivid nostalgia. Between this and the NYT Modern Love piece, you can be our generation's Nora Ephron. 🩷 (and I LOVED Nora Ephron!)
We always took the big blue Chrysler out to Sheridan Lake in Rapid City, South Dakota. My mother will tell you that there was always fried chicken. It was homemade then, (not like the store bought version that, later made everything easier, but also somehow reminded her that things change too fast.) There was always a watermelon packed in ice. And, of course we played frisbee. The water near the shore was bathwater warm, and filled with grass that touched and tickled. Sometimes leeches punctuated my pale skin with their squishy comma bodies. My mother's younger sisters oiled up with Coppertone and lounged on towels in the gravelly sand while my grandmother, dressed in neat white shorts, sat under an umbrella. We all pretended not to hear the pop-shhh as my grandfather opened another beer.
I love this so much. Now I can say that I, too, traveled there with you one July day in 2023. Thank you for taking us back with you to your “We always” place.
Now I will ponder if we had such a place. If so, I’ll get back to you.
Frickin awesome. To write one’s childhood summer - an exercise for all of us. How did life get so hard? This was everything.
Thank you for reading💓
For writing teachers, “we always” is a wonderful prompt.
"We always" - such a comforting phrase and what a beautiful, evocative piece this is.
I've noticed that younger nieces and nephews who are new adults use "we always" even if I know that certain events only happened once or twice. No need to correct them.
I hadn’t thought of it in those terms but you’re absolutely right. So much goes into being able to say those two words ❤️❤️❤️
Love this! Mine was also my grandparents’ place, in rural Connecticut. We always stopped for cheeseburgers and root beer floats on the drive up, always had a family reunion at my great-uncle’s dairy farm (with baked beans and steamed brown bread accompanying the bbq), always caught fire flies and kept them briefly in leaf-stuffed mason jars as night lights. Those were the best, longest summers.
The stopping-along-the-way places are so important!!
I felt like I was there.
💓💓💓
Why do happy stories make us cry? This “we always” memory-story evokes such nostalgic memories of my own childhood visits to my North Dakota grandparents farm in the summer, where we always drank sulferish tasting well water from metal cups, and always watched Grandma make cinnamon rolls from scratch in the tiny kitchen, and always stayed up till 11pm to watch fireworks my dad and uncles set off when the sky finally was dark enough. So many “always” moments that can never be again…thank you, Deb, for bringing them back for a teary visit. ❤️❤️❤️
It’s all just baked into your bones, right? The sulfur taste really gets me
We have a place like that — my grandfather built this cabin on a lake north of Spokane. Still in the family; Mom and I are headed for a family reunion there this weekend. So many memories but one is the endless board games with cousins — Monopoly and Risk spread out on the carpet for days.
That sounds glorious ❤️🎲❤️
Now I can taste both Lebanon bologna and those licky stars, quite the sandwich for a Monday morning. This took me back to the hayloft, an impossibly itchy and sweet-smelling place where my sisters and I spent many hot hours, sliding bales into walls and hallways and lounging on the prickly furniture. xo
Ahh, I would have been right there with you. The joy of arranging!
I really loved this piece! So evocative. "We always" could be made into a film, in all of its vivid nostalgia. Between this and the NYT Modern Love piece, you can be our generation's Nora Ephron. 🩷 (and I LOVED Nora Ephron!)
🤗🤗🤗 oh my!!
I love your essay so much. Made me a bit weepy.
We always took the big blue Chrysler out to Sheridan Lake in Rapid City, South Dakota. My mother will tell you that there was always fried chicken. It was homemade then, (not like the store bought version that, later made everything easier, but also somehow reminded her that things change too fast.) There was always a watermelon packed in ice. And, of course we played frisbee. The water near the shore was bathwater warm, and filled with grass that touched and tickled. Sometimes leeches punctuated my pale skin with their squishy comma bodies. My mother's younger sisters oiled up with Coppertone and lounged on towels in the gravelly sand while my grandmother, dressed in neat white shorts, sat under an umbrella. We all pretended not to hear the pop-shhh as my grandfather opened another beer.
Everything about this❤️
But whoa, the leeches 😬
I love this so much. Now I can say that I, too, traveled there with you one July day in 2023. Thank you for taking us back with you to your “We always” place.
Now I will ponder if we had such a place. If so, I’ll get back to you.