Stories for dinner
My wife I took our annual summer trip to Oklahoma, and as usual we visited a host of relatives. Among the deceased relatives I keenly miss on these trips are my grandparents.
My last remaining grandparent, Grandma Clapp, died three Octobers ago. All four grandparents lived in decent health through my high school years. Growing up I lived on a farm just a quarter mile from Granddad and Grandma Clapp’s house and 13 miles from the small town where Grandma and Granddad Adams owned and operated a grocery store.
Thanksgiving and Christmas were always extended family events. But we also got together for Sunday lunch (or “dinner,” as we called it). Sundays alternated from one grandmother’s table to the other’s.
