Why I Love Dried Apricots

I've been thinking lately that grandpa Janson has been mentioned here without much affection, but it's only because I only have 3-4 personal memories of him.  He died when I was 5 years old, but a few scenarios have stayed in my mind all these years.  
One is of grandpa arriving from the nearby train depot one morning while we were eating breakfast.  We jumped up hollering "Grandpa's here! Grandpa's here!"and ran outside to greet him.  Another was the fact that grandpa stayed in the front bedroom upstairs when he visited.  That room had 1940s linoleum on the floor, mostly green, with huge flowers and leaves.  After grandpa left, we learned to go to his room to check for change on the floor, lost in the pattern.  I remember the room smelling like him, and missing him already, but happy for the cash ☺  I asked mom once if she thought he left the change purposely, or if he had holes in his pockets.  She didn't know, but thought it might have been both.
My last image of grandpa was when he was laid out at Virnigs Funeral Home in Pierz, in January 1955. There were venitian blinds over a window behind the casket. I was mortified that relatives wanted me (us) to kiss him.  I don't remember if I did or not.  He didn't look like grandpa.

My most enduring memory, tho, was sitting on his lap in the dining room at 434.  He'd brought something special from California, all the way home for me.  He asked if I liked raisins?  Oh yes, I did.  Did I know they were dried grapes?  I probably didn't know that ☺  Well, he said, there was a fruit called apricots that grew in the sun in California, and he found a bag of dried ones there, so he brought them thinking I'd like them. (Did he actually say that, or...)
Anyway, the texture was different, sorta rubbery, and the outside was different than raisins, but the taste was like sunshine.  He believed in natural and fresh foods.  This was a way to bring perishable apricots home.  Definitely, I still love em, and think of him whenever I buy a bag.