My Grandmother House Essay

The street I live on has a lot of houses on it, and mine just happens to be one of them. Each house has its own driveway each one unique in its own way. Most of them are paved driveways, but mine happens to be made from hard pack. I can picture the driveway when it was built, still in the same place and still being made of rocks.

It was an unusual quiet evening at my favorite diner. I always loved meeting my beautiful wife here after a long day of work to get some of Chicago’s best coffee. Upon opening the front door, the welcoming smell of freshly ground coffee fills my nostrils as I take a deep breath, but at the same time, I lose my breath as I spot my stunning wife waiting for me. She was wearing a vibrant red dress, as she knows that it’s my favorite, while her hair shimmered in the light.

Every household has its own individual characteristics that make it functional, while portraying the family. For the private residential space, I decided to focus on my aunt’s house. The space has a slight rustic theme throughout and utilizes natural products in every room. I choose to focus on the kitchen/dining room of this home because it is the center of this household where everyone tends to congregate.

Who is your best friend? Some may answer this question with your mom, one of your siblings, or even just a person that is the same age as you. When I am asked this exact same question I used to answer with “my grandma.” My grandma was just a phenomenal woman, and she would do anything for me and the rest of the family to make sure that we are all jubilant. I lived with my grandma, my whole life. We did everything together. From shopping, going in family reunions that we didn’t even want to go to, and attempting to cook new things, but ending up burning it. My grandma and I were always together. She was my rock.

The old house was losing part of its skin producing tiny, white flakes arranged around the yard, and the shingles on top of the roof were trying to hang on the best they could. I took my first step towards the front door walking up the sturdy, metal bicycle ramp, noticing the tiny slots that allowed you to view what was beneath you. When I raised my head I realized the front door had not changed at all, the orange paint was still faded and was starting to show more white but not much. It was as if someone took orange watercolor to a piece of paper. The polished door knob twisted as I opened the door releasing a familiar,

When I get hurt she's here when I cry she's here; when I needed her the most she was holding my hand the whole way, my grandma my everything my angel. You asked for A setback a challenge a failure, going through the death of the most loved person in your life is the most painful thing anyone can experience, and the biggest setback anyone can go through.

My eyes opened slowly and unexpectedly. I yawned and stretched my body out across my mattress, arms out reaching high above my head, getting the joints warm and flexible. I sat up on the bed and looked around the near pitch black space that was my bedroom. My eyes have yet to adjust to the darkness, but I knew where everything was, all committed to memory. My room forms the shape of an L; The door leading into my room opens up to a space five feet wide and it opens up to the rest of my room in a square shape. In the right-hand corner of the room lies my bed against the wall, jet-black sheets covering the bed that I currently sit on with matching pillowcases and a white fleece blanket that wasn’t covering me at the moment, so it was probably on the floor. Next to my bed was my desk, very large and made of redwood, with three drawers on its right side and one under where the middle of the desk was. In the corner opposite of me on the left side of my room was my bookshelf, filled to the brim with all sorts of books, each one I had a very strong fondness for, and on top of it a globe and a random mess of papers, journals and writing utensils that I use for schoolwork. Directly right to the bookshelf was the small wooden nightstand that my 22-inch flat screen TV sat atop, several of my favorite DVDs and video game cases on it as well and on the floor beneath the stand was my Playstation 4 console and my 2 controllers

It was a dark and spine-chilling night and my friends and I stumbled across a really creepy house. This old house was big and did not have any windows to peek inside of it. I also thought that it looked very ominous, sinister, and abandoned. My friends wanted to check the house out, but I didn’t want to go in. I thought the house looked eerie and ghastly, but they said, “you'll be fine your just a chicken.” I wanted to shriek it looked so scary, but instead, I said, I am not a chicken, I’ll show you. I went into the house by myself… there were COBWEBS, SPIDERS, and BUGS OH MY! I suddenly heard my friends outside talking and I came out to see what the commotion was all about? They were shaking and said, “we don’t want to go into the house anymore,” so I said, ok then just stay outside in the dark and wait for me to finish looking around the house and then we can leave. I said, it may take a little bit for me to finish looking in the house, but they said, “that's ok.” I finished our conversation and then I went back into the house.

Many newlyweds usually buy a house or pay to have one built so they can start having children immediately. These houses often contain multiple floors that often contain a final floor called a basement. The many uses of a basement include a bedroom for members of the family, an area to have family time, or a man cave. The Meyer family built a house before the turn of the century a couple minutes away from Main Street St. Charles. The house contained a lower level basement that has proven extremely useful and important to me during my lifetime. From times doing homework to the meals I took down there to consume, the Meyer basement has been a focal point in my life. The five senses are vital to help describe my basement as can be seen by the setup of the few pieces of furniture, the taste of the numerous meals I have delighted myself with, in addition to the many sounds protruding from multiple devices.

We fought like siblings, my mother said. We fought like sissies, my uncle said. We fought like the goddamn Irish, my papa yelled. And we did, my cousins and I fought enough to have scrambled eggs for brains. But we always stopped when the loser started to bleed.

We arrived at grandma’s place to clear out her home. As I stepped in, warm morning light caressed my face and was infused with a golden orange glow. I clutched a photograph of my grandmother, now worn and tearing. I still couldn’t believe that she was gone. I still remembered when I first heard about this, sorrow twisted tightly into me and a rush of tears flowed from my eyes. That day, was the mournful days of my life.

As my feet lightly tapped and echoed against the hard, concrete floor, a foreign feeling filled every inch of my body. The wintery air felt cold, lifeless, and in all senses dead, and the high chirp of the birds above was strangely absent. And as I approached the door to my own house, I began to hesitate. Somehow, somewhere, deep within me, was a small sense of dread. Regardless of all telling me to do otherwise, I twisted the door’s knob, and swung it open with all the usual enthusiasm. I dashed forward, through into the living room’s comfort, until I saw my parents, sitting there, dull faced as I told them about my day. Something was wrong, and it was something awful.

Arkansas, Only about a hour, maybe two hours long drive away from home. Over the course of the day we meet new and different people, eat good food, and give gifts. Everyone is overly affectionate and helps out in the kitchen. Squeezing around twenty people in the tiny house is a tight smoosh, even if our family is almost half of that group. The house itself may not be that tiny but we’re all gathered in just the kitchen and living room, making it seem like a smaller space. At times, a few people stroll out the glass door, onto the patio and into the back yard, yet even then it feels just a tad crowded, especially since we were around people we’d never met. From long road trips to the ice cream punch to eating way too many rice krispie treats in one sitting, every part of that day went smoothly, giving off a joyful, pleasant vibe. Joyful is a great feeling to have around Christmas time. The best part? It was all captured in one sweet picture.

As you pull into the driveway you see a black mailbox. You see the house is light brown starting on the right side there is a small garage door to the right of that there are three beige large garage doors. As you move to the other side you see a overhang with a tiny bell and a flag over it. Once you move over some more you see some glass four by six windows covering the rest of the front of the house.

When I was seventeen I decided to move out of my mother’s house. Thinking it would be the best for me, dropping out of high school with only one semester to go. In moving out I made some unwise choices. I started hanging out with the wrong crowd and picking up some not so good habits. I met a guy who oi thought would take care of me and have a decent life ahead of me, how wrong was I. I got into some hard times going through day to struggling with money and a drug addiction. I enjoyed partying and drinking. I avoided visiting my family for the same reasons. I knew what I was into and didn’t want my family to know how bad off I really was. This was hard for me because I had created this environment for myself and I wasn’t proud of it at all.