Happy Memories

Earlier this week I went to my Grandma’s house for mac and cheese!

I drove the hour from my office straight to her doorstep and was greeted with her Scottish accent and a hug.

Her mac and cheese is the best. My mom has the recipe and makes it as well—it’s really good—but it’s not quite the same.

Maybe it’s because going over to her house and having a meal together reminds me of when I was a little girl. Maybe it’s the nostalgia that gives her mac and cheese the edge. Maybe it’s because she made it.

By the time I arrived, she had already prepped the table: chicken, a salad, veggies, and the mac was broiling in the oven—nearly ready to serve. I always have and always will get spoiled at her house.

I asked what I could do to help. She said, “Nothing—except maybe take the leftover water from the steamed veggies to the plants out back.”

Her backyard is a sanctuary. Despite her 82 years of age, she works hard in the garden all summer because it can’t not be perfect. That would be ridiculous. It's full of shrubs and plants and hydrangeas and a bird bath—smack dab in the middle of the lawn.

I watered the hydrangeas and walked back inside to her pulling the mac and cheese out of the oven. “This deserves to be captured on video,” I said as I pulled my phone out of my pocket.

Now, I’m not a huge tomato lover (sue me!), but my grandma is—especially when they are broiled and covered in cheese. So she puts tomatoes atop half the mac and keeps the other half tomato-free, for me. A small gesture, but the kind of attention that makes you feel like you are the only kid in the world.

I ate my portion at record speed while catching her up on the events of my life, my recent birthday party, and how busy I am at work. She tells me about her journeys on the bus and talks about my papa.

For dessert, she had cut up some pumpkin loaf and key lime cheesecake, served on a fine dish. I told her she shouldn’t have gone to all that trouble, and she said, “Nonsense.” I ate the loaf… and the cheesecake.

Earlier in the week, I was thinking about a video my papa had taken of me 20 or so years ago, performing songs I’d learned in my kindergarten class. I wanted to see it again, and I knew it was still somewhere on a disk or on the old computer.

Together we ventured into the old computer room to find this video I was dead set on watching. The computer room is one giant memory box—filled with years' worth of photos and my grandparents’ old CDs. I got sidetracked on my quest and started flipping through the old CD cases and pictures, my grandma smiling longingly over my shoulder.

Being reminded of one CD can place you right back in a very specific but defining moment. I love that about reminiscing—yearn for it, even. I’m reminded of moments and can have new feelings and new memories based on what version of myself is remembering or what phase of life I’m in. I don’t do this very often, as it takes away from the thrill of it, but doing it with my grandma is always a treat. We get to relive together. “Happy memories,” as she would say.

We ended up finding the video I was in search of on the old Mac computer that has been shut down for years. I’m surprised it turned on, but lo and behold, the nostalgia gods wanted to indulge us.

My grandma is featured in this video as well. She looks younger but sounds the same. Her hair is longer, but she is sat in the seat at the table that has always been hers.

We ended our visit with chit-chat and her waving goodbye to me from the window, as she always does. Time goes on, but some things never change: her mac and cheese will always be the best, her accent will stay the same, I will always make her laugh, and her house will always be filled with “happy memories.”

I sang, “I went to the zoo, I saw a orangutan and a silver fish… an eagle fly…” the entire drive home.