Turning Into My Grandparents

When I was little and would visit my paternal grandparents I noticed that kids ate different breakfasts from my grandparents. My grandad always had a small allbran cereal and prune juice. My grandmother often had stewed prunes and a cup of coffee.

Once I was offered the allbran and prune juice. Once I tried them. Only once. I never liked allbran after that and prune juice was more like motor oil to me. I tasted my grandmother’s stewed prunes, once, and they were not much more of a hit.

My grandmother was a good country cook. She could make biscuits in her sleep and her caramel cake was legendary. She made bacon sandwiches for us for breakfast. I did not understand why she and my grandfather ate those other inedible things.

That is until I got to be almost social security eligible. Now I eat prunes, through dried not stewed, as my dessert. I wish l liked allbran, because lord knows I could use it. I still have not succumbed to prune juice.

I never asked my grandmother why they ate those horrible things, but I am thankful I did not have to “the regularity” conversation with her. She was a straight shooter and would not have held back in describing it to me.

One example of that is at her 50th wedding anniversary party, when she overheard my mother asking me if I was going to marry the boy I was dating at the time, my grandmother piped in, “For god sakes, don’t get married. It’s 50 years of misery.”

I am glad I didn’t listen to her about marriage, but I am in her prune camp now. I just wish she taught me how to make her caramel cake.