One of my fondest memories is getting to spend a weekend at my grandma and grandpa's house, although with today's standards, I don't think many kids would think it could be that much fun...but oh how much they have missed!

Usually, I would get to spend the weekend with my grandparents if my folks were going to go out on a Saturday night, and they couldn't take me with them...which in itself was not the rule, so these were definately "special times".

The ride from my house to my grandparent's house wasn't a long one at all, and probably only all of an eight mile trip over the Connecticut River from Manchester to Hartford...and I would be anxious all the way. Once there, we would park the car in the street and not in the driveway like we did at home. After all, this was the BIG city and folks didn't have private driveways...and my grandparents didn't even own a car. We would walk up the two flights of wooden stairs, and enter in from the back of what they called a "tenement" apartment building. There on the porch would be all of the geraniums and other plants my grandmother so loved to keep, and the long clothesline stretching from the porch to the few garages out back for those who actually owned a car. The apartment itself was a very small one...only three somewhat barrenly decorated rooms and a pantry, but oh what good times I would have whenever I was lucky enough to stay over night!

After my parents would finally leave, my grandmother would usually start supper on her coal burning stove, and if I was lucky, they would need to refill it and then I would get to go down into the basement with my grandpa where he would gather up coal in his coal bucket, and we would take it back upstairs.

While my grandma would cook, I would get to play with some toy my grandpa had savaged from a dumpster somewhere and had turned into "brand new" condition. He was my hero and I loved spending our private time together.

Supper would be a traditional Polish dish like kielbasa, potatoes, and cabbage with maybe some carrots as well. After supper, we would wash the dishes in that huge castiron sink and then leave them on the set tub to dry.

Now the evening was meant for fun, and we would drag out the old wooden BINGO board and go to town. Being that both my grandparents spoke only broken English, games like this were easiest for all of us and we played for pennies...and for some strange reason, by the end of the night, I would usually have most of those pennies too!

Because there would surely be an early wake up call before walking to church in the morning, we didn't stay up much past ten o'clock at night, and would get ready for bed...and the once again, I would get to take a bath in that wonderful old bath tub with feet.

I often wondered why they didn't have such a bath tub like this at my house, but I was told that they were too old fashioned and so this was my only chance to take a bath in one...and I loved every minute of it. Why you could almost swim in one, as deep as the water was, and I just loved sinking down below the water line and pretending that I was underwater at the beach in the summer time.

Too soon my grandma would call to me and tell me it was time to get out of that tub and into my pajamas, and the fun would have to end until next time...and I would put my rubber duckie on the window sill and hop out.

The next morning we would have only coffee and then walk to the Polish church several blocks away, and although I didn't know what they were saying, I always did enjoy the service.

On the way home we would always stop at a bakery where we would get a baker's dozen of warm jelly and glazed donuts, and this was such a special treat as well.

I reminicse now to those times so very long ago, and I wonder how many kids today would enjoy spending time with my grandparents...in this age of computers, big screen surround sound tv's, microwave ovens, and video games.

Perhaps the simple joys I knew growing up would not entertain the youth of today, but I can tell you that any time I see one of those bath tubs with feet, I would give anything to be able to go back...even for just one more weekend!

Your story brought back some memories for me too. I guess that is what happens when you start to really get old. You have stories. My Mother in Law had a great big enameled cookstove. pale yellow and green that took up one whole corner of the kitchen.