Previous Challenge Entry (Level 1 – Beginner)
Topic: Grandparent(s) (04/03/08)
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TITLE: Summer Soup | Previous Challenge Entry
By Koula Amling
04/09/08 -
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Well, I’d better gone to greet Grandfather before resuming my search, so I went inside the rocky abode. The seven hundred square feet boasted two rooms, humble yet never cramped. One side of the main room held a bed, neatly made, a wooden chair and armoire, a rug, and a small painting of the Savior. Further over was Grandfather’s fireplace, where he sat on his stool. A fresh spare bed and bench posed closely in anticipation. Lastly, an old dining set, dressed in tiny red and white checkers, plastic, was crowned with a glass bowl of candy. The sweets were swaddled in various wrappings that doubled as baby mirrors when given the chance.
“Hi.” A whiff of sweet, smoky homemade cigarettes paraded around my head, welcoming me into the presence of my mom’s dad, a man of few words. Was that a hint of laughter?
“Hey.” Grandfather was always up to something, however. His sense of humor infamous, I wondered what premeditated stunts our visits had in store when he got the itch to entertain himself.
He offered me a piece of candy and motioned for me to sit down. I wondered how long his hair had been as white as the coats of some of his animals.
“Hungry?” Strong-enough, wrinkled hands poised firewood in the hearth.
I sneeze-answered, “Yes-eh!”
“Bless you. Grandmother’s waiting,” he gestured toward the kitchen..
The other room was spotless and half the size of the main room. Adorning one side of the span was a hard, narrow bed which doubled as a couch. I sat here to observe Grandmother as she prepared meals, aware of the crisp bedding and listening for any wisdom she’d divulge.
“What are we having?” I inquired, knowing it was soup she prepared; she poured broth into a waiting pot, and a sieve containing scrumptious meat seasoned with oregano, the essence of our small soupy feast, sat nearby.
“Grandfather requested chowder. Sound okay?” I sensed by her tone that this was an odd choice for a summery day, but her gifts of cooking and rising up to the occasion prevailed. An impeccable lunch awaited: tomatoes drizzled with feta and olive oil, cucumbers with sea salt, olives, and fresh-picked figs complimented summer soup, as well as cold mountain water and a liter of fizzy lemonade from the café. Dessert would always be wonderfully the same: sweet Turkish coffee for adults; candy for us.
“Fine.” I got up to set the table; a late lunch would be served next so that siestas could be had.
Soon everyone gathered ‘round the spread. After I’d ladled the soup, Grandfather said grace.
“Thank you, Father, and bless, please, this gathering and the gifts you’ve set before us. Amen.”
He began to eat. Did I detect a snicker behind his steely blue eyes? They looked downward; a joke was afloat.
“Do you like your soup?” Grandfather directed the question to me, suppressing a grin.
“Fine. Do you?” ‘Why do you ask’ was more like it, from the look behind his face. What’s funny about soup?
I glanced over to see if Grandmother had any idea what he was up to. She did. His pranks had been the culprit countless times over their half-century together; she knew all too well.
“You wouldn‘t---”
However, Grandmother couldn’t finish her sentence. I looked over and caught her husband as he exploded into chuckles, spitting soup out in effect. He held his stomach as it dawned on me that the joke was on me…
Grandfather had succeeded in cracking himself up once again.
Wiping away tears of hysteria, he said just this:
“JamesOneSix!”
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What a story! The characters were so colorful, I felt as if I knew them. Great job! ^_^
I really enjoyed this. Thank you for sharing. :)