PRESERVING THE PAST.
My maternal grandfather was a banty, rollicking man of Irish descent. He loved nothing better than having a pint with his cronies and telling tall tales about a fictional woman he always called the Widow Brown. When he finally retired, he set about building a saloon in his basement, so he could continue these activities at home, rather than dropping by the local watering hole once a week after work.
When he had finished his saloon, called The Horn, it looked just like something straight out of the Wild West, with swinging-shutter doors, a long stand-up bar, and outlaw Wanted posters and pictures of dance-hall girls on the walls. My cousins, my sister, and I all loved the saloon, and we spent many a long hour there, cranking out songs on the player piano and playing cards at the old wooden poker table.
One of the things I always especially loved about the saloon was its two antique mantels, which, as a child, I had proudly helped my grandfather install one summer. So when he died, I very much wanted those mantels to remember him and that summer by; and when, sadly, it came time to tear apart the saloon where we had all whiled away so many happy hours, I was indeed given the two mantels.
For many years, they sat out in my garage, because I had no other place for them. But now, with all the remodeling that my husband, John, and I have done over the past several months, I've at long last been able to move one of the mantels inside, into our living room. There, it has a place of honor against one wall, where we are currently lovingly restoring it to all its former glory, complete with a Victorian tile surround and hearth, and a Victorian stove.
I've always thought that it's important to preserve the past and good memories. So I'm looking forward to sitting in my grandmother's rocker, before the mantel, and to decorating the mantel itself with garlands and stockings this holiday season. I know that both my grandparents would be pleased---and that they'll be with me in spirit.
Update: December 7, 2004...our mantel's finally finished---and I thought you might like to see some before and after photos.
Here's our mantel before:
And here's our mantel after:
3 Comments:
My maternal grandfather was of medium height, fine boned and slender. Both he and his wife were third generation Irish but still talked with a musical lilt in their voices. Grandpa Mack had twinkling eyes and a whimsical way of speaking that kept his grandchildren fascinated. Black-haired and brown-eyed, he was perfectly at ease whether his chores took him out to the garden, sent to clerking in the RR office or put him to puttering around the kitchen. A neat and tidy fellow, he could play the fiddle and dance a jig better than any of his 8 brothers and sisters.
My maternal grandfather was of medium height, fine boned and slender. Both he and his wife were third generation Irish but still talked with a musical lilt in their voices. Grandpa Mack had twinkling eyes and a whimsical way of speaking that kept his grandchildren fascinated. Black-haired and brown-eyed, he was perfectly at ease whether his chores took him out to the garden, sent to clerking in the RR office or put him to puttering around the kitchen. A neat and tidy fellow, he could play the fiddle and dance a jig better than any of his 8 brothers and sisters.
My grandfather worked for the Pullman Railroad Company; and when, as a child, I decided to take up the violin, he gave me one of his fiddles. He also danced and sang. It's nice to have happy memories of one's grandparents, isn't it? I'm glad you have such fond memories of your own Grandpa Mack, Anonymous!
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