♪♫Here I am at G.G.’s House ♫♪
I grew up with the blessing of knowing my great-grandmother. Every Thursday was G.G.’s day. She would pick me up from the babysitter and as we would pull up the steep driveway in her baby blue coupe, we would sing our original song to the tune of the Muffin Man, “Here we are at G.G.’s house, at G.G.’s house, at G.G.’s house.” I would spend all afternoon playing or learning new crafts like decoupage or cross-stitch. Eventually, she would sit in her rocking .




