Grandma Opal 's ' Grandma 's House '

In the story “Everyday Use”, by Alice Walker, the story is told from the perspective of the Mama and the story involves two daughters.The oldest daughter changes her name and doesn't appreciate her culture, Dee and Maggie both want the family quilt. Dee wants the quilt, but the mom doesn't want to give the quilt to her, she wants to give the quilt to Maggie. Maggie wants to hold on to her heritage and Dee doesn't understand her heritage, her mom knows that Dee won't hold on to the family heritage.In the poem “My Mother Pieced Quilts” memories revolve around the poem.The poem is mainly about the mother's talent of weaving and how she weaves memories out of old fabric she finds that doesn't work anymore.In both of these stories,

There she shares with them stories about her past and her present as well as they help with her chore of removing the eyes from a hogs head. From the way she talked about her preparation and canning of the “souse meat” as she called it, to her way of speaking in general, anyone who’s grown up in the more rural areas of West Virginia would almost feel like their reading a transcript of their own grandma’s words.

Laced with a full array of colors, patterns traced on every corner, and hours of painstaking work to create a simple quilt, the creators and users take pride in their accomplishment. Alice Walker’s short story “Everyday Use,” is a direct reflection of her own rediscovery of herself. Walker took back her maiden name to honor her great-great-great grandmother to embrace the strength her grandmother had to provide the best life for her family. Walker’s short story displays an unusual family dynamic of a mother and her two daughters that she provides for to try to give them the best life possible. The short story and Walker’s own history are elucidated with elaborate and careful detail as that of a quilt. In “Everyday Use,” the quilts expose how the importances of protecting family heritage can be crucial to the understanding of one’s self when connecting to their history.

One such tradition is not socializing with neighbors but only talking to her sisters or other family members. Both of my great-grandparents came from a large family and so the Sunday was always considered family day. It was nothing to see a yard off of kids playing or see the men playing a game of horseshoes as the women would set out the dinner. However, it was the winter time that holds the most memories for my mother. It was then that the families would all gather at the family pond and go ice skating and the men would build a big fire and everyone would stand around and drink hot chocolate. One such tradition in the winter time was right after the first snow fall of the season. We would take a big mixing bowl and go out and fill that bowl as full as we could. Then she would go in and make a big bowl of snow ice cream (Food in Every County). One bright sunny day, our family was going to Lake Pomme De Terre for a family picnic. Like Shteyngart, I was all set for some grilled hamburgers or hot dogs or even some fried chicken. However, that was not meant to be. Like Shteyngart, is aw food being set out that was I saw food that was familiar to my great-grandmother’s culture. Instead of grilling hamburgers, she set out chicken and noodles, mashed potatoes, green beans and for dessert a shoofly pie, sugar cookies, and schnitz pie, which is made with dried apples (Food in Every County). My mother laughed when she saw my face because later my

Some say food is an exploration of culture, and taste evokes lush memories of the past. “ In An Island Passover” by Ethel G. Hofman, she described her life in the Shetland Islands. Every year, Hofman’s family celebrates Passover- a traditional Jewish holiday where time and effort to prepare a meal is like painting, and it takes months to reveal a masterpiece. While Hofman had a positive recollection of her family’s traditional cuisine, author of “Fish Cheeks”, Amy Tan did not share the same experience. Tan felt ashamed of sharing her traditional cuisine with a pastor's son whom she was in love with. Tan strived for her crush’s approval because she did not want to be deemed strange. Hofman and Tan had striking differences in

Mama understands the past and the significance of a family heritage. Her heritage including her memories of her mother and grandma making quilts together by hands.

We started sharing even more stories about how we loved foods that grandmothers made that you found amazing because of the “baked with love” moment you have for them. She explained that her grandmother was a very beautiful lady with sophistication and class. “No matter how she looked I always stared into her eyes so bright and blue.” Caroline then

In Amy Ma’s My Grandmother’s Dumpling, she recounts a time in her life when she was a little girl at her grandmother’s house. She assimilates this time of dumpling making in the kitchen to a time of happiness. She tells us this story to remind us all no matter what you think you have many fond memories with your family, you just have to look back and see them. The setting for this special occasion was hosted at what Ma calls “home”, her grandfather’s house. When you’re young your family pours love on you in many ways, and they give you many memories to hold on to and look back on and smile.

Sometimes she’d come to my regional finals. During the season, Sunday was soup day- she’d make it while we were with dad, zipping up and down the sidelines, and heated it up in that well-scrubbed, large silver pot when we came in from soccer. Some days it was kind of a proper soup, a bit like those Penelope had in her mansion near town, from a real recipe- cream of mushroom, minestrone, or French onion. Never cream of chicken though… the place up in town was quite pricey. Other times it’d just be a Mum’s Mix just the way I liked it, made from whatever scraps and bits and pieces needed to be used up. The ultimate rule to good cooking, she’d say, if you put nice things in it, it can’t possibly turn out nasty. In went the leftover bits of ham, corn cobs, softened tomatoes, the stalk of chives sitting at the back of the fridge, left over herbs from the garden, and a tiny cube of chicken stock. Dad would stomp in, the floor boards creaking as he limped into the kitchen. Grey eyed, and growling with hunger, he’d slurp down the whole without even picking up his spoon, bits and pieces sticking to his unruly black moustache. It was true too, I’ve lived with Mum’s philosophy to this day cooking in the front kitchen overlooking the harbour…it’s still loved by

Shortly after our visit to the Lofgren’s, I married my fiancée, which concluded my six-month long residence with my grandmother. Subsequent to my moving out, Grandma resided alone in her house for several years and on nearly every Sunday, “just in case someone might drop in after church,” made a delicious roast beef dinner with mashed potatoes and gravy. During the first years of our married life, Kathy and I frequently dropped in after church to dine and visit with my endearing

When I was young, I remember visiting my grandparents’ house. The house was full of indelible memories. It was beautiful and full of elegant furniture. In the essay, More Room covered, Judith Ortiz Cofer expressed her memories about her grandmother’s room. Cofer’s grandmother’s room was filled with mementos from her children; it was brimming with postcards, photographs, and other souvenirs.

Some of my favorite precious moments happened in grandmas kitchen each and every time we visit. Whether it was just eating some of her delicious cookies or dancing, talking, or watching the windows. The atmosphere all around grandmas house was filled with lots of sweetness joy and peace inside and out. The smell of sweet cookies over home cooked meals covering flung over the table. Fresh cold drinks like grandma got it straight from the sky. There was lemonade, milk, and coffee smelling like she hand made them with the ripest lemons, milk straight from the cow and coffee fresh from the beans. Only grandma could make it smell like that.

The familiar smell of soft cookies and homemade cooking are common thoughts when people think about their grandma's house. Great feasts and family gatherings play a part in everyone's grandmother's home. But when I really think about my grandma's house only one word comes to my mind: fun.

My grandmother, Esther Turner, has impacted my life in more ways than just simply being there for me, as a grandmother. She’s much more than that, in my eyes. Being the eldest of three, I’ve always taken on more responsibility as the older sister. It was my job to show my little brother and sister which paths were safe to take in this wild, confusing maze called life. At times, I felt like a mother myself, and at a young age, I found myself slightly intimidated by all the responsibilities that were laid on my shoulders. The main person I could talk to freely and openly, without judgment, was my grandmother. We have always been able to speak to each other about any and everything, nothing was off limits. That’s what I think brought us so close, the fact that she accepted me entirely for the person I presented to her.

My grandmother’s house has a very special place in my heart. As the family has gotten older and we have all had our own children we do not visit as we should. I visited with my grandmother many times when I was little. Her house always seemed to have something about it that set it apart from all the rest. As you walk into the back door of her house you would notice a long, narrow kitchen that led into the main living and dining room of her house. The smell of food home cooked food was quite evident. Grandmother cooked every day and always cooked big meals on holidays for the family.