Childhood Memories of my Grandparents' Home Essay

I can still recall the days where I would run down the block chasing after the ice cream truck. I lived near a park in Brooklyn, and my daily summer routine consisted of endless enjoyment at the park. As a nine-year-old, all I focused on was having fun and playing handball with my friends at the park. Every day I set out on the same task, and did not realize what I would do if those friends were no longer there.

From discovering turtle nests, cliff jumping, to the daily wind down it was a blast. After catching two baby turtles, Stuart and I made sand castles for them to live in and brought food for them to eat. Koopa Troopa and Shelly were our very own turtles. We eventually had to let them go and release them into the lake. At this point my seven-year old self was probably very emotional and probably cried. Once my turtle phase was over, we often times went cliff jumping. A few miles down the lake was a group of cliffs that we would jump off fairly often. The feeling of falling from the rock and splashing into the water was so fulfilling and invigorating. Since running up and down the cliffs was relatively tiring, we eventually would take the pontoon back to our dock and unload all of our belongings. When the day would come to an end, our entire family would cozy up around the TV and watch The Wilderness Family movies. Most of us would fall asleep on the couch and wake up when the sun shone through the huge glass windows that surround us. By then the weekend was over, and it was time to go

I brought my plate outside, the patterned china seemingly wet in the sun. I took a bite of my sandwich. The cool veggies managed to dull the heat. The cucumbers crunched in the bread as i took another bite, my mind wondering as I set. I could recall all of the gathering held in this yard, both joyful and somber. Gatherings of celebration and mourning. Each year we would sit In the yard, mixed chatter filling the small clearing. Everyone flocked to the small, one story home. Grandmothers, cousins, uncles, aunts, all alike. Each gathering, the numbers seemed to grow. We would all sit, listening, gathering, and sharing stories of one another. Though it is always nice be reunited family and friends, the empty yard is an entirely separate place. As I finished my sandwich, I looked around, almost an hour had passed. I begun to clean up the spot I was occupying, stacking my dishes and

The simple bowl is deep cherry wood with a silver rimmed bottom that reflects my face upside down as a result of the polishing it has received over the years. The grain is worn, but still radiates the strength of the tree that it came from. As I run my finger over the inside of the cavernous salad bowl, it picks up some of the olive oil residue from the homemade Italian dressing that has seeped into every little grain of the bowl over years of use. Never subject to washings; we only wiped it out with a paper towel, to better flavor the crisp Boston bibb lettuce salads that it delivered at every family dinner. Just as the wood bowl, my grandmother was weathered and cracked by the trials of life. I could not be around her without leaving

The air was crisp and clean, as it was a mild autumn day. Throughout the forest, the sounds of nature could be heard. Birds chirping, leaves falling off trees in the midday breeze. The calm sounds of the woods gave way to a new sound: the gentle humming of a young female wanderer, on a quest to visit her grandmother. She quite enjoyed the sounds and view of the forest, as it was her favorite thing to surround herself with as she was growing up in the village not far from the forest edge. As she strolled through the winding paths of the forest road, she thought of the wonderful experiences of the day ahead with her grandmother.

There were fields filled with bountiful flowers and yellows as bright as the sun at midday. A murder of black birds lay on the horizon of the small field, sitting on a rickety fence as if it was their only home. The middle of the field was a lush green that seemed to radiate and sunlight and brightness throughout.

The mountains towered over us threateningly. The only reason I joined the research group was to escape normal life. The same everyday routines were torture to me. The grass around me fluttered gently, creating this enchanting illusion of a grassy, green wave of greatness. The sky was filled with fluffy wild clouds, dancing around in unison.

A few white-tailed deer bounded this way and that, while birds sang overhead. It was truly beautiful, but not as beautiful as the view that awaited us down the road. Just a few minutes down that path, right before it trailed back into the forest, I could literally see for miles. What lie before me were the fields of coffee on the sides of the mountain. Behind this were neighborhoods of cream stucco with their brick-red ceramic or bright, tin roofs. The cityscape was unlike any I had seen; instead of rising up, like they do in America, it sprawled out organically. The city mingled with the greenery in such a way that the homes seemed as if they belonged there. I was struck by how different the landscape of this beautiful country was compared to back

The familiar smell of soft cookies and homemade cooking are common thoughts when people think about their grandma's house. Great feasts and family gatherings play a part in everyone's grandmother's home. But when I really think about my grandma's house only one word comes to my mind: fun.

The fleeting changes that often accompany seasonal transition are especially exasperated in a child’s mind, most notably when the cool crisp winds of fall signal the summer’s end approaching. The lazy routine I had adopted over several months spent frolicking in the cool blue chlorine soaked waters of my family’s bungalow colony pool gave way to changes far beyond the weather and textbooks. As the surrounding foliage changed in anticipation of colder months, so did my family. My mother’s stomach grew larger as she approached the final days of her pregnancy and in the closing hours of my eight’ summer my mother gently awoke me from the uncomfortable sleep of a long car ride to inform of a wonderful surprise. No longer would we be returning

As I left behind the somber forest, I now recognized an appreciation for nature that I did not realize I had. I now knew there was more to nature than just trees and animals, but also I found the

The grass was soft and green, reserved for those who wanted to lie down or sit. A sweet aroma of flowers overflowed near by like s shinning light, but was hidden by the untrimmed bushes and wildly growing trees. Up above me was the beautiful, high noon blue sky spotted with fluffy, white clouds and airplanes flying by. I emerged into the parking lot and stopped happily as a squirrel under a tree. Hesitating to proceed anywhere further I took a few

When I was a young child I would love to hear my parents tell me that we were going on a trip. I would be full of excitement, because I knew that we would be going to a place that I had never seen before. My parents, my brother, and I would pack our luggage and venture out in our small gray minivan. Three of my most cherished memories in our minivan are when we went to Disney World, the beach, and the mountains.

My earliest memory I remember as a child is around the age of two years old. My Mother would put me in the playpen but I refused to stay. I was able to climb out of it. I remembered my Mother’s face expression that let me know that I better not climb out of the playpen again. This was one of my earliest memories of her setting her boundaries. When I got older, my Mother told me about the situation. She needed to clean and/or cook so she had to put me in the playpen. At the age of two years old, I just wanted to explore and didn’t want to stay in the playpen. This set the tone between us moving forward.

My grandmother’s house has a very special place in my heart. As the family has gotten older and we have all had our own children we do not visit as we should. I visited with my grandmother many times when I was little. Her house always seemed to have something about it that set it apart from all the rest. As you walk into the back door of her house you would notice a long, narrow kitchen that led into the main living and dining room of her house. The smell of food home cooked food was quite evident. Grandmother cooked every day and always cooked big meals on holidays for the family.