Hello, my name is Kristina. I want to share some of the memories I have of my grandmother. There won’t be any dates or facts. I was too little and careless to remember. Besides, she was a mysterious woman.
My grandmother used to live in the only island in Lithuania. It was connected to the mainland by the bridge. In spring, when snow and ice is melting, all that area is flooded. Neighbors reach each other by rowing boats. I used to spend my childhood summers at my grandmother’s. Actually all her grandchildren used to do that. We used to wake up just before the sunrise and go fishing. We used to build little tents in her apple tree orchard and pretend we were kings and queens. We used to sneak into her garden beds and steal young sweet carrots. She always knew it, but never told us a word.
I was her youngest grandchild. As time passed, all my cousins grew up. I was the only one still spending the summer with my grandmother. She let me stay in her bed. It seemed that it’s bigger than a boat and the bedding was softer than the softest cloud. We used to stay in our nightgowns while we ate our breakfast. We often had waffles with homemade jam. She would make the most delicious waffles that I ever tasted.
It was never boring with my grandmother. We used to visit neighbors and exchange vegetables and eggs for milk and butter. We used to go to the river. We swam and caught fish there. We rode bicycles together, too. Faster than the wind. And then in the evenings we played checkers and cards. Before falling asleep, she used to tell me little funny stories about chicken the pioneer or about the wolf in the jail. Always the same little stories.
She lived in this huge old house which was a school before the war. Everything seemed so big and beautiful there. I especially enjoyed checking things in the cabinets over and over again. My favourite was the cabinet where clothes and things for special occasions were kept. It had this special scent — lilies of the valley. There was a big attic in her house. Full of shadows and secrets. I used to sneak up there and spend hours and hours reading old letters and newspapers — playing with the light and the little green and brown glass bottles.
She didn’t tell me much about herself. I have never seen her cry but I know that her life wasn’t easy. I miss her very much. I wish I could spend one last summer with her.