actually, there are no rivers or woods on our way to grandmother’s house. unless, you’re counting the Santa Ana river, which is kind of a river.

who are we kidding, not really. it’s more of a sewer river. ew.

instead, we take the 55 to the 91, exit Lakeview and head North.

when i was little i used to say we were going to the ‘country’ when we were headed to my grandmother’s.

she lives in Yorba Linda. it’s hardly country, but the properties are spacious and there’s a lot of dirt, so i guess in my mind that qualified for country.

it’s ‘the land of the gracious living.’ or so it says on the sign as you enter the city.

i think that is about accurate.

really, it’s everything a kid could ask for in a place to grow up, but when i was little, i thought it was kinda boring.

there were no friends to play Barbies with and the boys (my brother and his friends) never let me play on the tractors with them.

(i bet this boy would love to take his mama for a ride on the tractor!)

to entertain myself i would find the key to my grandma’s little shack and pretend it was my home (it used to be my dad and his brother’s playhouse when they were little).

i would sit inside with my dolls and think about how i would decorate it.

i loved how tiny it was.

when i was in my late teens, i would go over to my grandmother’s house two or three times a week. i loved hanging out with her.

we would pick lemons from her trees and make homemade lemonade.

i liked to wear my overalls (what? it was the 90’s. totally acceptable) and go into her grove

and pick avocados and make fresh guacamole.

(side note: they’re usually much bigger than this, but avocado season is over. these buds are just starting to grow for next years crop.)

sometimes, i would help deliver the avocados to the nearby restaurants.

(this is my grandma and step-grandpa’s old truck. isn’t that the cutest?!)

other times i would help my grandmother with her garden. (it’s a wonder i didn’t kill all of her flowers. i did not inherit her green thumb!)

through the years, there have always been two areas of my grandmother’s home that i love best.

the first is her red barn.

there are treasures both outside

(this used to be the water trough for the horses. waaaaaay before my day.)

and inside

and up in the loft of the barn.

my grandmother likes old stuff, too! (can you tell?)

she also likes to collect stuff (genetics are powerful, aren’t they! 😉

the second area i love is her basement (yes, this is in California and yes, that is rare). it was the mecca center for fun and is full of cool treasures!

whenever we had family gatherings here, we would head to the basement to play pool.

(this is a map my great-grandpa made and would mark off the places he traveled with little red pins.)

(my grandfather was a commercial pilot, so he and his family traveled often.)

i loved and still love to admire her collections.

she loves coffee. (yup, she’s definitely my grandma.)

and though she was never a smoker, she loves these colorful little tin cans.

yup. my grandma is pretty cool, if you ask me. she even has a directors chair that says, “hustler” on it.

i think out of all of her collections throughout her life though, her most favorite are her family.

we love you, GG.

kisses.

i actually don’t like to be called big papa. nor do i like to be called papa. that would be kinda weird.

my son, however, nicknamed my dad papa when he started talking and it has stuck.

we had a fun day celebrating papa and got to do some of his favorite things.

you see, my dad has a thing for old things. (the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree!)

and i guess you could say he likes to collect stuff, too!

(side note: some of these are other family members. loving old things runs in the family!)

for as long as i can remember, my dad has always loved old cars.

i have memories of my dad fixing the old cars and cleaning them, so they would shine!

i have heard the story often of when he was in his teens (or maybe it was his twenties?) how he restored an old model A with his father (my grandfather).

he worked hard on it. every square inch inside and out was loved back to its original.

his dad, who was quite the perfectionist, taught him about the details.

and growing up, my dad liked to teach me about the details, like mohair seats and ceilings (that are kinda scratchy, but i guess that’s what they did back in 1931 and there is just something fancy about mohair seats!).

he would take me for rides when i was little. and when i got older, he taught me how to drive them. (they are double clutch. good thing there were no cell phones back then!)

now that my dad is a papa (grandpa), he is enjoying teaching my son all about the details of these old cars.

i couldn’t be happier.

my son is just like his papa, he loves old cars, too! and he, especially, loves his papa!

Happy Father’s Day to a great dad and papa!

also, a warm and loving Father’s Day to my hubby! we love you, tons! thanks for being such a great daddy to our son (even if you don’t like to take pictures!)

at least i got you to laugh, doing my little, “kutchy, kutchy goo” tickle under the arm thing!

you can’t help, but start to sing that song when you hear it.

then the image follows of Mr. Rogers carefully undoing his shoe laces, taking off his shoes and gracefully throwing them into his opposite hand.

when i was little, i used to act that out every time i sat down to put on or take off my shoes.

actually, i still do. (okay, maybe just in my head)

now, i hadn’t planned on this post being about Mr. Rogers. I just really liked the catchy phrase from his song and thought it would be a fun title.

i had planned on talking about the wonderful neighborhood that surrounds our home and all of the beautiful houses i like to admire with white picket fences.

but see, while i was singing that song my curiousity about Mr. Rogers grew.

So, i decided to google him. have you every googled him? Oh.My.Word. what a man!

did you know that Mr. Rogers was so well liked by the public that when his Impala was stolen outside of his tv studio and he later reported it, the thieves returned his car. in the exact spot it was stolen. with an apology note.

the note said, “if we’d known it was yours, we would have never taken it.”

holy moly. that’s impressive.

i also learned that Mr. Rogers was a very tolerant man. He loved everybody.

It didn’t matter if you lived in a

yellow house,

a pink house,

or even a house with bright colors.

he would always say to them, “God loves you just the way you are.”

he truly sounded like the most perfect neighbor. how cool would that be. to have Mr. Rogers as a neighbor? i wonder what kind of house he would live in.

would it be big?

would it have a wrap around porch?

or look like a saloon?

or maybe he would have a house that looked like it was built for a hobbit?

one thing is for sure. it wouldn’t be the color blue. i guess he was color blind.

he was also a perfectionist. i bet his yard would be the best on the block.

apparently, he was so well disciplined he remained 143 pounds for 30 years. which was convenient because he loved the number 143. why? because according to Mr. Rogers the number 143 means ‘i love you.’ 1 letter to say i, 4 letters to say love, and 3 letters to say you.

how precious is that.

he seemed a very humble man. i bet his home would be cute and practical.

whatever it would be, i know one thing is for sure….. it would be a beautiful day in the neighborhood.

oh, Mr. Rogers, won’t you be my neighbor?