OVER THE NARROWS AND THROUGH THE WOODS by Frank Linkh

Most of all, I guess I think about the summer days.

See, to us, Gramma's house was like a trip to the wilderness. (Strangely it was never Grampa's house, and there was no "n" or "d" in those words at all.)

We'd wake up to the sound of birds and noisy insects then tumble out the back door to go play in the woods. Now, you might say that the "woods" were nothing more than a square block of scrub and brambles. But to us they were the great outdoors. There were giant boulders and good climbing trees and rabbit tracks. One time there were bear tracks, but looking back it might have been a dog. We picked blueberries right off the bush — and we were allowed to eat them. We were lords of the jungle.

After that, maybe we'd take a walk down to Hugenot Beach. Something interesting was always washing up there. The horseshoe crabs, clearly Mesozoic, would wait for you to poke them with a stick and then they would try to get you with their stinger. And the gulls would cry and dive in the water. Or you could run down the beach and find an old rear view mirror and send morse-coded messages. Or climb up the crumbly cliffs. There was a spot where you could look out and if the day was clear you could see a piece of England.

Then it was time to go back for Wonder Bread sandwiches. Uneeda biscuits with Parkay Margarine. Milk in Welch's jelly glasses with scenes from the Archies.

When the sun got hot, it was down to the swimclub. And we got in the pool and stayed underwater for about an hour at a time. And we practiced treading water so we could get our deep water badges. When your fingers shriveled, it was time to run down to the playground, hang on the monkeybars, throw some horseshoes, shoot some baskets. Then Gramma would buy you a Good Humor Toasted Almond Bar. I swear they must have made them differently in those days. They were so good then and so mediocre if you try one now.

I don't think sunscreen had been invented yet — they'd put suntan lotion on you but nothing really worked. By midafternoon we were red as lobsters. Then it was back in the pool 'til the chlorine made our eyes as red as our backs. In the water you move really slow, so we pretended we were bionic men until it was time to climb into the back of the car and stick to the seats in our damp bathing suits.

When you got back to Gramma's you would be so tired you'd have to throw yourself on the floor in front of a Batman episode. Even TV was better at Gramma's because for reason the pictures were in color. POW! BAM! BIFF!

And swimming and playing ball all day makes you really hungry. So whatever Gramma was making smelled really good. I remember Tater Tots and Rice-A-Roni, hot dogs and hamburgers broiled in the electric stove.

Sometimes Uncle Harold would come over and you got to pet his dog.

After supper, you'd be falling asleep, but you'd want to stay up. Sometimes we'd play cards or play Clue. Then you'd go up to bed and read the new Hardy Boys for a while. And the ballgame would still be on downstairs and when Ed Kranepool hit a homerun in the ninth inning to win the game you'd have to look in the Advance the next day to see if it was a dream.

And it was all true.

Frank Linkh is a Senior Associate Partner of Member Experience at Audible.com, and the (normally) silent partner behind The MotherHood. This essay was written for the occasion of his grandmother Hazel's 90th birthday in May, 2000. Gramma was born and lived on Staten Island her entire life and this post is dedicated to each of her 12 grandchildren and 19 great-grandchildren, especially our Lt. Col. currently serving overseas.