GRANDMA'S PANCAKES.
Johnny…
how could I describe him? He was a young white boy born in some old
Celtic town. Some typical white you know, a gruesome pointed nose, blue eyes, restless
hands and a burning tongue with a pale skin and blue eyes, the likes of Scotland, wales or Ireland. He loved spending time with his main, "old bruh"..its grandpa actually, who stooped from the resistance of time to let him
grow younger forever. One could actually literary count the wrinkles on his smooth forehead. The old mans under lit den looked like a magicians corner or
a witches hut by the forest edge. It was stacked with all garbage, old books,
magazines, gramophones, records that he loved playing when granny was cooking pancakes and other stuff that cockroaches knew better than I . I guess he did this to remind the old lady of the
days she used to sway her hips down the walk way and in her long pointed leather
boots stepped magically like she was in no mood or sane intention to hurt the tiniest of crawling creature or insect. I
guess she was a college hallway celebrity from the way her dazzling neck breaking chiffon dresses brought a standoff to many relationships and made stags have second thoughts and many wish to change their faculties.
The grammo was his no touch zone but at least for Johnny he had been let to touch once or twice but with much instruction and with eagle eye observance just incase his fingers became paralyzed with fear. The records had been stacked high according to their consecutive years and the old books too breathed a different life into this room. The old pages of the books had a way to make you take another deep gentle breath before you could find out the secret riches hidden between the pages. This kind of life is the one Johnny loved, maybe it is this gentle personality and resonating intelligence in such a meek charming soul that had won granny's heart. Focused and persistent, Old man was always on pipe reading or writing, some slow folk or country music charming the soul in the background. Once or twice you could see the old man tap the feet and rock his head to the intoxicating music . Grandma or aunt wold come in and serve him coffee and pancakes and once or twice a short conversation would pop up. a short reminder of the past, an update of today's news or tommorow's plans. His sarcasm was hard, rare but so raw that your ribs would tear and it was good to stitch them back incase you wished to wake up tommorow in a piece and not pieces.
Its grandmas pancakes that made me stay late and also wake up to their resurrecting smell. A runaway from home I was and never saw the crawling holidays coming so that I could camp at the oldies.
Old piper was a loner, once or twice he would take you for a stroll down the lake in his choky army green beetle. Sometimes in the woods and meadows and you would be lucky to learn bunny and deer hunting techniques. By the lakeside in the gentle breeze as we watched the wild ducks enjoy their sport piper would narrate vivid accounts into 7D. He had this habit of renewing emotions into them and this was evident by the endless curious questions Johnny posed. Grandpa loved this curiosity…the eagerness inside, sparked with some strange hazy soul. In the same space two things..the porter and clay, fine clay. Larry king knew how to create he was a writer and crafting was his technique. The pipe that is never touched’ probably would be my story when I start writing like piper. Just as most of his band stories he was a true piper blowing it like the devils son on his birthday.many knew of him, he was unmatchable in his town. Many referred to him as Peterson's piper. He was indeed a musical plumber. And when my wheels start rolling on these rails let these memories surpass those of the Hogwart's Express and those of the hot coffee and the hot creamy chocolate pancakes on winter mornings and autumn nights. Long live grandma's pancakes...
#happyfestivities fam
The grammo was his no touch zone but at least for Johnny he had been let to touch once or twice but with much instruction and with eagle eye observance just incase his fingers became paralyzed with fear. The records had been stacked high according to their consecutive years and the old books too breathed a different life into this room. The old pages of the books had a way to make you take another deep gentle breath before you could find out the secret riches hidden between the pages. This kind of life is the one Johnny loved, maybe it is this gentle personality and resonating intelligence in such a meek charming soul that had won granny's heart. Focused and persistent, Old man was always on pipe reading or writing, some slow folk or country music charming the soul in the background. Once or twice you could see the old man tap the feet and rock his head to the intoxicating music . Grandma or aunt wold come in and serve him coffee and pancakes and once or twice a short conversation would pop up. a short reminder of the past, an update of today's news or tommorow's plans. His sarcasm was hard, rare but so raw that your ribs would tear and it was good to stitch them back incase you wished to wake up tommorow in a piece and not pieces.
Its grandmas pancakes that made me stay late and also wake up to their resurrecting smell. A runaway from home I was and never saw the crawling holidays coming so that I could camp at the oldies.
Old piper was a loner, once or twice he would take you for a stroll down the lake in his choky army green beetle. Sometimes in the woods and meadows and you would be lucky to learn bunny and deer hunting techniques. By the lakeside in the gentle breeze as we watched the wild ducks enjoy their sport piper would narrate vivid accounts into 7D. He had this habit of renewing emotions into them and this was evident by the endless curious questions Johnny posed. Grandpa loved this curiosity…the eagerness inside, sparked with some strange hazy soul. In the same space two things..the porter and clay, fine clay. Larry king knew how to create he was a writer and crafting was his technique. The pipe that is never touched’ probably would be my story when I start writing like piper. Just as most of his band stories he was a true piper blowing it like the devils son on his birthday.many knew of him, he was unmatchable in his town. Many referred to him as Peterson's piper. He was indeed a musical plumber. And when my wheels start rolling on these rails let these memories surpass those of the Hogwart's Express and those of the hot coffee and the hot creamy chocolate pancakes on winter mornings and autumn nights. Long live grandma's pancakes...
#happyfestivities fam
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