FIRST PERSON

I enjoyed all the stories, but, as a child, wondered why they told them over and over.

Besides being a gifted storyteller, Grandma was a meticulous housekeeper. A speck of dust or a droplet of water couldn’t get beyond her gaze.

As age and her arthritic knees began to limit her, she decided to hire some help.

Naturally, no one could meet her rigorous standards, so she often found herself cleaning right behind the helper du jour. She joked about one day writing the book “Hazel’s Help,” to relay her many tribulations with housekeepers.

About a week after one cleaning, Grandma became fixated on a dirty area on the wall behind the refrigerator but high enough to be seen.

“That will just have to wait until she comes again,” Grandpa told her. “We don’t have any way to reach up there.”

“I’ve got an idea,” said Grandma, dragging the stepladder toward the refrigerator.

“That thing isn’t nearly high enough,” Grandpa countered.

“You haven’t heard my plan yet,” Grandma replied. “Even if this ladder were taller, I know my knees wouldn’t bend enough to reach the top of the refrigerator. But if you push my legs up one at a time, I can swing around and sit on top of the refrigerator to wash that wall. Then you can pull my legs back down onto the rungs of the ladder so I can turn around and get down.”

“That’s the craziest idea I ever heard in my life” Grandpa exclaimed. “You’re

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“Not if you help me,” insisted Grandma, starting up the stepladder.

Grandpa grudgingly gave in, pushing Grandma’s stiff knees high enough until she was finally seated on top of the refrigerator. He fetched her a dishpan of soapy water and a cloth, and Grandma washed the wall — this time, to her satisfaction.

“OK,” Grandma directed, “you get a hold of my right leg and just pull until you can put it on the top rung of the stepladder.”

Grandpa tried but couldn’t budge the arthritic leg.

“Try my left leg,” Grandma suggested.

Again, Grandpa tried to slide the leg off the refrigerator but couldn’t get it anywhere near the stepladder.

“Well,” Grandma said, giggling at her predicament, “I guess we’ll have to call the emergency squad to get me down. Tell them to bring two or three strong fellows; they’re going to need some strength to get me off here.”

When the squad arrived, two husky young men lifted

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Or email: talking@ dispatch.com Grandma off the refrigerator with relative ease.

“Let me fix you boys some fresh coffee for your trouble,” Grandma offered. “I have homemade cookies here, too.”

Laughing, the medics sat down at the kitchen table to visit with Grandma and Grandma.

This entire scenario played out about noontime, not long before my mother arrived home from her job for lunch, as much to check on my grandparents as to eat.

Seeing the ambulance parked in the front yard, poor Mother lost at least 10 years of her life racing into the house.

Entering the kitchen, she didn’t hear sounds of trouble but laughter — and found Grandma and Grandpa happily drinking coffee and joking with the medics.

After Mother heard the story of Grandma’s rescue, she, too, started laughing.

Yes, as a child, I often wondered why my grandparents told family stories so many times over.

What I didn’t realize then that I do now, though, is how family lore and legend — reiterated and instilled over time — form the bonds that constitute a family.

And, sometimes, all it takes to strengthen those precious connections is a good laugh and a cup of coffee.