Within minutes of arriving at my grandparents’ house last month my grandpa said, “Hey DeeDee, I got something to show you in the garage.” This is not unusual. Grandpa is forever collecting interesting items, new toys, junk, funny things for his bar…the list goes on and on. So I thought nothing of following him. And I didn’t even notice the string of relatives quietly tiptoeing behind.
We entered the garage and he started wandering around muttering to himself, “it’s here somewhere…where is it…maybe over there…” Again, it should be noted that this sort of communication from my Granpda isn’t unusual. In fact, I think it’s where I get the whole talking to myself thing. But I digress. He finally turned to me and said, “is it under that towel right there?”. And still clueless I shot back with playful exasperation that I reserve for my grandpa, “I have no idea, I don’t even know what I’m looking for!”
And that’s when I saw them – the string of relatives following behind, recording me. And I knew something was up.
But I had no idea just how amazing it would be…
and I had no idea how much I could cry/shriek/sob with surprise…
especially when I saw that my grandpa had burned in my nickname on the left…followed by his name and the date on the right. Shoot, I’m tearing up again just thinking about it.
There are no words for how much I love this gift. In fact, I believe I’m more proud of this miniature Cottage than I am the real thing. (And that’s really saying something!)
But there are most definitely words for how much I love this old man…
SO, SO, SO, SO, SO much.
(I love you, Grandpa.)
And here is the final shot of the mini-Cottage as we loaded it up to finagle a way to get it back to Alabama.
It was going to cost $350 to mail so we decided to check it on our flight. My brother-in-law came up with the idea of taping funny signs all over the box to encourage the baggage handlers to be nice. In the end after a few funny looks, a waived oversize baggage fee (thanks to Brent’s military ID), and a whole lot of worry on my part she arrived in one piece minus a few slats that came unglued. But nothing a little wood glue couldn’t handle.
After all, they don’t call me John Keith’s granddaughter for nothing.
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