Every year at the same time.
\nWe go \u201cvisiting.\u201d
\nI pick the most beautiful white flowers and press them into my gloved hand.
\nMy husband carries the \u201cgifts.\u201d
\nThe kids, with their thickest hats and gloves, trudge along together.
\n\u201cTo Grandma and Grandpa,\u201d they chime.<\/p>\n
At \u201ctheir place,\u201d there\u2019s no table.
\nNo chairs.
\nNo one offers you to take off your coat.
\nNo need to remove your shoes.
\nBut every year, lined up in a row among the countless twinkling candles\u2026 I close my eyes for a moment.<\/p>\n
\u2026And I see her pulling her baked \u201cbabka\u201d from the oven, what she called her signature cake, which she served every Sunday. Sometimes the \u201cbabka\u201d would collapse, and Grandma would worry and sigh, saying, \u201cWell, you didn\u2019t turn out right.\u201d But we, the children, never noticed and devoured it without sensing any deviation from the usual \u201cdeliciousness\u201d standard.<\/p>\n
I always smile in my mind remembering Grandma\u2019s signature dinner dish\u2014\u201cKAPL\u016aNAS,\u201d which she ceremoniously always offered to us. Do you know what a \u201ckapl\u016bnas\u201d is?
\nNo?
\nWater, into which you tear a slice of black bread and sprinkle a spoon of sugar.
\nAnd then?
\nEat!
\nYou cringe? You can\u2019t imagine how delicious it was as a child.<\/p>\n
I remember her upstairs bedroom, where climbing the wooden stairs felt like entering a fairy tale paradise. Snuggling under the \u201ckaldra,\u201d into bed, your feet would warm, and the stories about Elenyt\u0117 would begin.<\/p>\n
I remember when I brought a new doll, Grandma would pull out a large basket of fabric scraps from under the table and let me choose the fabric for the doll\u2019s dress. Then she would adjust her glasses perched on her nose and patiently thread the needle. After a few turns of the old, oiled sewing machine wheel, she would hand me the new garment for \u201cfitting.\u201d<\/p>\n
I remember her long white braid, which she twisted every morning and pinned into a bun with metal pins. Then she covered her head with a scarf.<\/p>\n
I close my eyes and see Grandma\u2019s scarf drawer, which she let me explore, and though \u201cnewcomers\u201d rarely appeared in that drawer, I always lifted them with awe and great care, knowing they were her most precious treasures.<\/p>\n
I open my eyes.
\nI \u201cbreathe in\u201d the feeling of the twinkling candles and close my eyes again.<\/p>\n
I see Grandpa.
\nFor some reason, in memories, he is most often wearing a cherry-colored sweater, leaning over the newspaper he just brought.<\/p>\n
He never missed a chance to read aloud a joke found at the end of the newspaper. Or to retell it in his own way.<\/p>\n
I remember climbing onto his lap, and he would start \u201ckicking\u201d us, his grandchildren, singing: \u201cOne up, one down, Viktariukas red.\u201d And we would giggle until our cheeks were the color of winter apples.<\/p>\n
I remember his workshop.
\nAnd the \u201cbusiness\u201d he invented. On weekdays, he made \u201cmu\u0161taukes\u201d (wooden tools for whipping butter), and on weekends, placing them into baskets sewn by Grandma, he would take them to the market to sell.<\/p>\n
Mostly, he didn\u2019t sell them.
\nBut he always came back in good spirits.
\n\u201cI\u2019ve talked to so many people,\u201d he would rejoice in his immaterial \u201cprofit.\u201d<\/p>\n
I remember how he loved candy.<\/p>\n
And most often, in his mouth, \u201cbambonk\u0117,\u201d a type of raisin candy, would \u201cnap.\u201d<\/p>\n
I remember Grandma scolding him that so much sweetness wasn\u2019t healthy, and then adding: \u201cOh well, maybe it won\u2019t harm us anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n
I remember how they loved each other.<\/p>\n
And they always argued in the best spirit: \u201cWho will die first?\u201d
\n\u201cChoose,\u201d Grandpa would say, nudging Grandma, \u201cMorning or evening?\u201d
\n\u201cMorning,\u201d she would answer.
\n\u201cThen evening is mine,\u201d Grandpa would chuckle. And, with a serious face, add:<\/p>\n
\u201cSo what will I do without you all day? No one to argue with\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
Every year.
\nThe same evening.
\nVisiting \u201ctheir place.\u201d
\nAt Grandma and Grandpa\u2019s.
\nI return physically cold but spiritually warmed, remembering how they loved life, each other, and us.<\/p>\n
Walking along the candle-lit path, I tell the children:
\n\u201cGrandma and Grandpa have gone. To heaven.\u201d<\/p>\n
And in my mind, I add:
\nNot forever.
\nThey come back every year.
\nIn memories.<\/p>\n
Spend today cozily with those who haven\u2019t gone anywhere.
\nAnd with the memories that have returned.<\/p>\n
After all, such an evening, lit by little flames, lingers in the air.<\/p>\n
V.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"template":"","class_list":["post-17525","istorija","type-istorija","status-publish","hentry"],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/viktorijos.lt\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/istorija\/17525","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/viktorijos.lt\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/istorija"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/viktorijos.lt\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/istorija"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/viktorijos.lt\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=17525"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}