The family that lives above us in our townhouse building consists of a young couple, her parents, and three young children, two girls and the youngest is a boy. They have been here about three years since he was just a few months old.
“Grandma” (I don’t know her name), is a beautiful woman inside and out. She loves her grandchildren, and they love her right back. She and “Grandpa” look after them when the parents are working. They also pick fruit whenever/whatever is in season. They are hard workers who seem to love everything that they do.
Grandma and Grandpa know very little English. I can talk through the kids or the parents; however, if it is just Grandma and I we find other ways to understand each other. A couple of summers ago she started bringing me fruit – sometimes huge bags of it including strawberries, blueberries, and rhubarb.
They keep the kids’ ride-on toys and Grandpa’s bike behind a privacy fence near our front entrance, so they don’t have to take them up and down stairs each time. This is absolutely no burden on us, though they are very grateful.
The other day I realized I had a large bottle of bubble liquid and a few wands left over from other kids who have lived around here and I know the three upstairs love bubbles. So, I told the Dad that I was going to leave it with the bikes. Grandpa had the kids out the next day and seemed puzzled so I went and talked to the oldest girl. I explained her Dad knew about it and that it was for the three of them to play with.
Grandpa nodded and smiled after she told him and within minutes they were having a great time on the front lawn blowing bubbles. It made my heart smile.
Tonight the doorbell rang, and I wasn’t expecting anyone. It takes me a little time to get out of my recliner because it is electric and goes down very slowly. That and the fact I don’t have a fast gear in me anymore makes it hard to get to the door. Plus I have to make sure the dog and cat don’t get out.
When I finally got to the door, there was Grandma with a huge bowl of freshly picked local strawberries. She held them out to me with a huge smile.
I got a bowl out to give hers back right away and could just smell the freshness of the berries. I handed back the bowl and as usual, we exchanged big hugs. No real words were said, nor did they have to be. To me a hug is international for “thank you”, “I am glad we are friends,” and “it is so good to see you.”