Mixing alcohol and drilling

"May 15, 1990:  John and Helen took possession of their house today.  Greta, Lester, Irene and I were there in late p.m.  We toasted them with champagne.
May 14, 1990:  Started quilting the quilt of 3-inch squares -- finished it May 22."

There Grandma goes jumping around in time again.  But I forgive her.

Champagne?!  What, booze??  Actually, Grandma was at times fond of Fuzzy Navels and Kahlua.  I don't remember what she mixed the Kahlua with, but for a while and at different times, peach schnapps and Kahlua were safe gifts to give.

Destructive drilling, but a little background first.  Dale and I were rather by ourselves, age-wise, at the family gatherings.  The other kids were either too old or too young to play with.  So, for me it was either hang out and listen to the grown-up ladies talk or entertain myself.  On this particular day, I don't know if Dale wasn't around or why we weren't playing together.  I do know he wasn't in on my antics.

Grandpa kept his hand drill and the bits in the Honda House.  I knew how to change the bits myself.  Grandpa would let me drill holes in scrap wood.  He kept miscellaneous pieces of wood in the corner by the door of the Honda House.  Normally he had plans for some of the scraps and no plans for the others.  I always asked him for wood when I wanted to drill because I didn't want to use a piece he had designs on.  Well . . . he was off during this particular family gathering talking to the menfolk and I was trying to think of something to do.  I was much too shy to approach him to ask about the wood with those men around.  And as I said, I didn't want to use wood from the corner that I shouldn't.  So, in my wee five-year-old mind, I thought the safest option was to drill into . . . the floor of the Honda House.  I drilled hole after hole and changed the bits to make different-sized holes and had a wonderful, wonderful time.  That was until the door of the Honda House opened.  In that one instant, the fun disappeared and I had the sudden revelation that maybe the floor wasn't such a good idea.  I am pretty sure Uncle Elmer was there with Grandpa when he peered in.  I was probably in mid-drill, looking like a deer in some headlights.  As was his nature with his kids and grandkids, Grandpa didn't yell or scold.  He did something Dale considered almost worse . . . he just laughed.  And laughed.  And so did Uncle Elmer.  I didn't until several years later, but did appreciate the lack of yelling at the time.

So, the holes stayed in the floor as a constant reminder of a little girl's folly.  Years later, Grandpa installed a woodburning stove in the Honda House.  I think he covered my creative drilling with some regret, but he wisely nailed tin over the holes to avoid the whole place going down in flames in the event an errant cinder crackled out of the stove and fell into a hole.  But, I knew the holes were still there and so did Grandpa.

The photo is from a different family gathering, but as you can see, Mom and Nancy managed to get their picture taken with Grandpa without him acting all put out about it.