Grandmother's House

My Grandma lived under the house

by reddit user chewingskin

Before you read these moments from my life, I’d like to apologize for the language, but I’m trying to recall it from the exact detail.

During the months of June, July, and August, I spent many hot summers of my childhood at my Grandmother’s house further west on the island of Cape Breton. The forest was plentiful, the plains were a vibrant green, and my Grandmother’s house was a rickety old two-story that was built sometime in the 50’s and looked like it didn’t belong.

Despite its shortcomings, my childhood summers spent here were some of the best I ever had. There were no other children to play with for the next few miles towards town, but I made my own fun running through fields of grass and smelling flowers in my Grandma’s garden. I can still recall the smell of my Nanna’s butterscotch muffins wafting through an open window, sweet and heavenly and beckoning me inside. I can still remember the sound of cicadas and a warm breeze brushing my skin. I can still remember my Grandma’s face watching me from underneath the porch step, smiling with all her teeth and calling me to come inside.

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one of my all-time favorite family stories

My dad has always been crafty and rather macabre. In his mid teens, he acquired a plastic Halloween prop of a human skull and repainted it to look more realistic, adding patches of leather and hair to look like scraps of flesh dangling off the bone. Years later, his mother told him to take all his old stuff out of the attic and put it in a trash bag out front for the garbage truck.

Their neighbor, Tiny, happened to be eavesdropping. For some reason, I imagine Tiny as a 1980′s version of Dennis Nedry from Jurassic Park. Tiny was a bit of a snoop and wound up digging through my dad’s trash… only to find a disgusting, gory, decomposing human skull.

Within the hour, every goddamn cop in the county was on the scene. Forty cop cars, up and down the street, gathered around my grandmother’s house. It was the most exciting thing anyone in the sleepy little neighborhood had seen in years. The coroner arrived - a man known then as Digger Jim, who also served as the mortician - and with gloves on, extracted the skull from the trashbag with a pair of surgical forceps. He placed it into an evidence bag, labeled and sealed, and this shitty plastic Halloween prop was taken back to forensics for investigation, while my dad was penciled in as a potential murder suspect.

Once the mortician took a good look at it, of course, it was obvious that it was only a cheap Halloween decoration, and everyone was a little bit sheepish over the whole ordeal. According to my great uncle, Digger Jim kept that skull on his desk for many years, up until he retired.

I owned a knife that could make you fly if you held it as if you were about to stab somebody with it. My dad took it away from me and hid it in his room, so I turned into a ninja and snuck in and got it back. I tried flying using the knife again, but somehow it teleported me to my grandmother’s house. She locked me in a cage and sacrificed the knife to Satan, and revealed herself to be Severus Snape instead of my grandma.

My grandma lived under the house

by reddit user chewingskin

Before you read these moments from my life, I’d like to apologize for the language, but I’m trying to recall it from the exact detail.

During the months of June, July, and August, I spent many hot summers of my childhood at my Grandmother’s house further west on the island of Cape Breton. The forest was plentiful, the plains were a vibrant green, and my Grandmother’s house was a rickety old two-story that was built sometime in the 50’s and looked like it didn’t belong.

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The Fairy Tree

In Ireland its quite common to see a lone Hawthorne tree growing in fields, they are known as Fairy trees, a farmer would never cut down a Hawthorne as the fairies would inflict a life of misfortune on him. As a child I first heard of the fairies and their affinity for the Hawthorne when I innocently picked the pretty white flowers and brought them into my Grandmothers house, I was swiftly chased out of the house and told to put them back where I got them or the Fairies would be angry and bring bad luck on the house. Its common to make a wish at a Hawthorne by tying a strip of material around a branch or pushing a coin into the bark as little offerings to the fairies.

Noah decided to become a stand-up comedian before he had ever seen one in his country, or before he knew that he could make a living doing such a thing.

“Famous is an understatement. He’s mega-famous in South Africa,” says Ugandan comedian Joseph Opio. “He’s basically the South African comedy industry personified.”

The show’s Hell’s Kitchen offices resemble an indoor dog park. The place is fueled by staggering quantities of caffeine and junk food. The latter still astonishes Noah and his African colleagues, who grew up viewing cake as a rarity, not a given. Noah’s grandmother’s house was “not a two-bedroom house. A two-room house,” he says, with no running water, and an outdoor communal faucet and a toilet shared by multiple families.

Noah learned quickly that to work with a successful program and a large (108-member) production team, “you really have to go for evolution rather than revolution,” he says. “Because anything you do initially is seen as incorrect.”

Read more: How Trevor Noah went from biracial youth in South Africa to leading light on U.S. TV

She’s back!!!  This weeks Animal Alphabets Fairy Tale Edition is L for Little Red Riding Hood.  She might look familiar cause I’ve used this character a few times in other pieces.  I liked her so much, I just had to bring her back for this weeks topic.

I have the most vivid memories of being seven years old and my mom picking me up from my grandmother’s house. There were the three of us, a family tree in an ombré of mocha next to the caramel complexion of my mom and light-skinned, freckled me. I remember the sense of belonging, having nothing to do with the color of my skin. It was only outside the comforts of home that the world began to challenge those ideals. I took an African-American studies class at Northwestern where we explored colorism; it was the first time I could put a name to feeling too light in the black community, too mixed in the white community. For castings, I was labeled ‘ethnically ambiguous.’ Was I Latina? Sephardic? ‘Exotic Caucasian’? Add the freckles to the mix and it created quite the conundrum. To this day, my pet peeve is when my skin tone is changed and my freckles are airbrushed out of a photo shoot. For all my freckle-faced friends out there, I will share with you something my dad told me when I was younger: ‘A face without freckles is a night without stars.’
But I don’t want small talk. Text me, and without saying hello, tell me why you got so angry at your sister this morning. Tell me why you have a scar shaped like Europe on the left side of your neck. Send me paragraphs about the time you spent at your grandmother’s house that one summer. Call me when I’m half asleep and tell me why you believe in God. Tell me about the first time you saw your dad cry. Go on for hours about things that may not seem important because I promise that I’ll be hanging on to every word you say. Tell me everything. I don’t want someone who just talks about the weather.
—  via @wizdomly
  • Me: *sigh*
  • Cashier: What's wrong?
  • Me: It's the scent of this place. It's nostalgic. Reminds me of lavender scent of my grandmother's house. Even color of the walls remind me of the bygone era of my childhood; the dim sunsets of a fuzzy summer evenings, and faint memory of fading dreams.
  • Cashier: Ah, you want to start all over do you? I know the feeling. It's enough to drive me to the brink.
  • Me: Verily. At some point, I began to live my life in retrospect. The now doesn't matter anymore because everything has become so bland. What am I to do in this monotonous life when my happy times passed so long ago. It's as if-
  • Cashier: *turns into a 9 foot tall vibrating metal cube that deconstructs me at a molecular level and turns me into pure radium powder*
  • Guy, with that as fetish who actually wrote this post: *doesn't even jack it just looks at the screen all sweaty and breathing heavily*
  • Girlfriend: *walks into the room unannounced* Everything okay? You've been acting kind of strange recently.
  • Guy: *quickly closes all tabs* Oh, nothing. I'm just like. I'm... you know. I've been tired.
  • Girlfriend: *suspiciously* ...sure. Pizza's here by the way.
  • Guy: Okay, cool. I'll be right out. *wipes sweat from head*
  • Girlfriend: *texts best friend* He's definitely cheating. He just closed like twenty tabs on his computer!!!!!!!
  • Best Friend: Did you look through his browsing history?
  • Girlfriend: Yeah, it's all wikipedia pages about radioactive stuff. It's so fucking weird. He's either cheating or a terrorist.
  • Best Friend: That's creepy. I'd break up with him.
  • Girlfriend: I've been considering it, but it's complicated. I still feel so strongly about him. I don't want to ruin our relationship.
  • Best Friend: Sometimes you have to break things off with the people you care about the most. For a little bit anyway.
  • Girlfriend: Yeah, I get that. It's so hard though. I can't imagine life without him.
  • Best Friend: You have to do what you have to do. It's the only way to move forward. Getting stuck in a stagnant relationship can ruin you.
  • Girlfriend: I guess you're right...
  • Best Friend: *is wearing a full hazmat suit.*
  • Doctor: *walks up behind her* Jennifer, stop texting. We need you in the bottom.
  • Best Friend: Sorry, got it.
  • Best Friend: *descends in elevator, sees 9 foot tall humanoid ant corpse on the ground* Fucking gross! Do you know where it came from.
  • Doctor: No clue. It's why we called you here.
  • Best Friend: This isn't like any cryptid I've ever seen. It must be extraterrestrial in origin. Wait... is its body full of gummy worms? *hears the sound of the elevator going up behind her*
  • Best Friend: Doctor! Where are you going!? What the fuck!?
  • Doctor: Waves to her from the elevator.
  • Ant Humanoids: *appear from the shadows in the hundreds*
  • Best Friend: No, no, no, no! This can't be happening.
  • Ant Humanoids: *surround her*
  • Best Friend: Don't fucking come near me! I'm highly radioactive! You'll all die if you eat me.
  • Ant Humanoid in the back: *listening to comic book podcast*
  • Podcast Guy 1: So when it comes to Superman, I feel like there are actually two characters. Clark Kent, the man. Then there's Superman, the ideal. They're the same person but represent very different aspects of him.
  • Podcast Guy 2: Comic books are fucking stupid, my dude. *cellphone buzzes* Hold up, I gotta take this.
  • Podcast Guy 2: *gets an alert that his favorite fetish forum has updated, licks lips fuckingly*
  • Podcast Guy 2: *under breath* Oh yeah. A new radium dust sexual fanfic. Can't wait to tweak my noodle to this! Zoo wee mama!
  • Podcast Guy 1: What did you just say.
  • Podcast Guy 2: Nothing, man. We were talking about Superman. Let's continue with that.
  • Podcast Guy 1: Yeah, as I was saying. Superman would definitely be a power bottom and