Granny at Hardy’s House

It’s amazing what a fairly decent night’s sleep and Birthday Pancakes can do for one’s motivation. Tack on some amazingly warm February days, and you have the makings of a multiple blog post Sunday!

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This used to be our ballfield

I came here to read. Read my recently purchased collection of Doctor Who stories, and kill some time before stopping at the spaghetti dinner fund raiser. While driving past my former school (torn down nearly 20 years ago, a newer building in its place), the Upper and Lower Camps, noticing where the tipple used to be, and finally arriving at my great-grandmother’s former home, I couldn’t help but be compelled to write about what used to be.

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I feel that there is a lot of that here in my beloved eastern Kentucky: what used to be. I grew up in a strange time in between innovations. Cellular technology, access to a global web of information, computers – powerful computers! – that fit in your pocket were around the corner. It was nice. There were still issues to face, problems to deal with but, upon reflection, it wasn’t a constant.
You could get away from things/people and really not be able to gotten a hold of.

My Mom would bring me and my brother here to see Granny at Hardy on Wednesdays during the summer. We would look through her books, eat the Fudge Stripe cookies she would provide, and play outside with the dog, Ginger. If we were lucky, our great uncle may be in visiting, Mernie would be home from work (he lived with her after he got out of school until he got married) or we would find some long forgotten treasure (a photo, a story, something!).

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What is this?! It's a mystery, that's what!

We called her Granny at Hardy because we had another Granny too. It never dawned on us to say Granny Chadwick or Henry – we identified them by location.
That’s what you do with two Granny’s, right?!

She was great, and lived a very long life, passing away after I was in college. My uncle takes care of her house now. I believe it is his happy place. Now, I get to join him in occasion while working there and get to hear his stories of what it used to be like.

Places, like people, change. That’s some huge revelation, I know. But throughout those changes – good and bad – there are some things that stay constant. Granny at Hardy’s place is like that for me. Whenever I’m here, which isn’t as often, I can still hear her laugh. I can see the family cars parked on the tiny, hilltop driveway, for Thanksgiving. I can read a book and enjoy the breeze without worrying about a thing.

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It’s nice to know that some things are constant. In a world changing rapidly, with complete disregard to what I had hoped would be my life at this point, I do like having a place to touch base.

So, sitting on the swing, book in my lap, I am thankful to know that as I move forward, this is a fixed point. That years will pass, places will disappear, but this moment is static.
Like so many moments prior. Like so many moments to come.

Allons-y!

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