My Old memories from a visit of my Slavic grandparents.
As kids, we’d always leave tiny handprints fogging up our grandparents’ windows. The glass smelled faintly of polish and violets from Grandma’s curtains.
We’d get a gentle scolding, then a warm laugh....
And soon enough, there’d be a sweet on the table or a slice of jam-filled pie waiting, the air thick with tea steam and old radio music.
