Hi from a busy desk! For those wondering, I’ve been mega busy, racing for essay deadlines! Life is a challenge for a mature postgraduate student! But hey, everything is under control!
Yesterday my mother was submitted to an operation. Unfortunately, she lives in Crete and I live in Nottingham, so I couldn’t be with her. But, as the time for the essay was running short and I couldn’t concentrate, family memories began to flood my head.
I remember spending days or weekends in my mother’s village, with my grandparents. I recalled especially the time I spent with my grandmother. She would spend all morning doing housework, while my grandfather would do some farming, before he would go to the cafe to find his friends.
Here I would like to tell you that my grandfather was a well-known saddle-maker! People from the whole district would come to his little humid room to order a saddle. His saddles were of exceptional quality due to his excellent attention to detail and the quality of the raw materials he used. Until the mid-1980’s many people still used equines for work and transportation in Crete. Once, I watched him make a saddle. He was making it for a friend, free of charge I think.
Then, at around noon, we would have our lunch. My grandfather would go to bed while my grandmother and I would stay in the kitchen and sit by the window, where she knitted. She did not know any tales apart from one. But, I was indifferent to tales anyway. Instead, I enjoyed real-life stories from the old times; my mother’s childhood, my grandparents’ marriage, people’s lifestyle.
At times, we would be joined by my grandmother’s girlfriends. They would gossip about other villagers or speak about current affairs. I would discuss like a grown up, smile and watch the stunning view of the village opposite, built on a steep slope. And I still remember the kitchen clock, which would be distinguished in our ears in the peace of the afternoon. Tic-tac-tic-tac. My grandparents’ routine was tuned by that clock. Maybe this is why I loved its sound.
My mother would pick me up late in the evening, after work. She was tired, but still would be happy to drive to the village to pick me up and spend some time with her parents.
As I’m finishing the essay at 5 a.m., I can still hear the clock, just as then. And I think I’ve just heard my grandmother speaking to me. Her favorite words? “If anything happens to your mother, I will kill you”.
Mothers are indeed a treasure! Cool about your saddle maker grandfather 🙂
I agree! You don’t realize that until you reach a point when you can’t see them every day 🙂 About my grandfather, I plan to search for old photos of him when I go to Crete. I would love to make a post about him 😀