In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “The Transporter.”There are a few things that take me back in time, among them, are cucumbers and “black cows”. It sounds weird, I know, but cucumbers take me back to visits with my paternal grandparents on the northside of Chicago. Because we lived an hour away, my parents, my brother and I would trek north about once a month to visit Grandma and Grandpa, usually on a Sunday. I liked to help Grandma in the kitchen while she prepared the meal by washing and cutting vegetables, setting the table and getting beverage of water or coffee for the rest of the family. She would often make something hardy, such as a roast or homemade beef stew. Grandma would also make a small salad as a side dish, and we would both snack on cucumbers as we got everything ready. Sometimes she would set aside an extra cucumber so it would be left for the salad because we had gotten hungry!After the meal, while Grandma would rest a little, Grandpa would come up with little games to play with my brother and I, we might walk to the corner store for the newspaper, or he would let me bang on his typewriter while wearing his hat, which was cross between a fedora and a panama straw hat. He would laugh while we took turns dancing around with his cane and took silly photographs with his camera. We, as a family, would then indulge in root beer floats, which my grandpa called “black cows.” My grandma and Grandpa would always send us off with a few small treats, a book or maybe an article of clothing, and my Grandpa would give my brother and I each a few dollars and tell us to hold on to our “mad money.” There was always a little family drama, but those were some of the best times!
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