Spoons

Walking into Mason's school this morning, a couple of the kids were playing a game called Spoons. That simple game, involving nothing more than a few playing cards and some simple kitchen teaspoons, took me back for a few moments on the way to work.

Those little plastic spoons triggered a flood of memories I had forgotten until this morning at 7:35. Grandma Huber (my father's mother, not Grandma Rosie, who is my mother - those distinctions are important with more than one Grandma Huber living) and Grandpa used to play card games with us. Spoons was one of those games.

Grandma and Grandpa came to live with us after my birth mother died. Dad was charged with raising three boys (one an infant) and Grandma and Grandpa were there to help. I was five at the time. Grandpa showed me how to mow the lawn (slicing his finger open in the process), drove 'little Timmy Hunter' and I to kindergarten and had a standing bet of 5:1 that he could flip over all the Scrabble tiles at once (the bet was that you pay Grandpa a penny for every tile face down and he would pay you a nickel for everyone face up ... no one ever took him up on it). Grandma cooked and cleaned; diligently straining out the meatballs from the Campell's Alphabet Soup to ensure that there was an even meatball distribution between myself and Greg. She knitted endlessly (sometimes at the top of the stairs when Greg and I refused to settle down at night), got us off to school and generally cared for the boys. (Her other job was to triage the women that Dad brought home, apparently. Ask Grandma Rosie sometime).

I was blessed with lots and lots of Grandparents (from all sides) whose firm hands and gentle love helped shape me and my brothers during a challenging time for the Huber family.

Thank you, spoon game for allowing me to remember that.