Grandparents' House Essay

Today, fifty-odd years later, I sit on my porch alone, swinging gently in the morning. I can look out over the yard. It looks just the same as the place were my most important moment of my life happened. I’ve kept it like that, so I never forgot. It's a large yard, that looks like a tiny meadow in a forest. It’s the height of summer right now, so all the trees are full and green. Just like it was then.

Arriving in the overgrown drive way trees start to crowd your vision, in the middle of all the trees I see an old beach house; that has stayed the same over the 18 years I have been going up there. Grandma is waiting outside on the front porch we all run up to give her a hug, then we go and start unpacking for a week’s worth of relaxing. First thing we do when were done unpacking is go to the old but new play structure. We sit on the swings and look out towards the big blue Michigan Lake. White caps cover most of the water along with passing boats, and some kayakers. Right over the horizon I can see the lights from the town, reaching into the sky. The sun is starting to set; the sky is painted with pink, orange, and yellow.

My grandmother Donicia was the first of the family to build a house in Penion Blanco, Durango Mexico and from my three years they took care of me almost all weekends. When I was 14 my mom decided that we move beyond and lived for three years in the field. When I returned to the city cost me much return to get used to the noise, cement and small spaces. Now, in retrospect, strange and almost need to go back to that House and that life which made from my largely what I am today. I remember that in the seven years I woke up well early to see deer eating from the garden of my grandmother at dawn.

We went on a few more rides. Twisted Colossus was amazing. We twisted 360˚ a few times and went on steep downhills. Roaring Rapids made us cold. We talked and screamed with kids from other schools as waves splashed us.

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

Our house on Orangeburg was not what we expected we all figured it would be like the one near Sherwood with a warm cheerful comforting fireplace and open armed trees gathered around in the front.The house on Orangeburg was crumbled like old ugly bread.Time had managed to make this house look irreversible the house was little more than a glorified shed.At least we don’t

The car suddenly stopped and jolted me from my sleep. Disoriented, I looked around and tried to make sense of where I was and what I was doing. Over to my left, I saw my sister doing the same. Tall, blue, connected houses surrounded us and we were parked in the middle of a pristine parking lot. Green, luscious lawns sat in front of those blue houses. A gigantic tree surrounded by beautiful multicolored flowers sat to the left of a dumpster and a wooden sign with white script on it. “The Pointe at Stoneview,” I read to myself.

When it’s just Hannah and I go pretty fast and it’s really fun riding in the wind. I love racing through the trails, avoiding branches and bugs, and laughing with my best

It was a cool September evening and my mom was driving me from Los Angeles all the way to Johannesville. As we drove on quiet, deserted roads I stared out the passenger’s window and saw nothing but hills with tall, dry, golden-brown grasses. It certainly wasn’t anything like what you’d see in pictures of beautiful landscapes but it wasn’t too bad either, I actually kind of liked it. Looking at those golden hills rush past my window somehow relaxed me and sent me into a staring trance, my mind traveled to other-worldly places where I could let my imagination run wild.

For a moment, I was transported back to my grandmother’s house in Small Town, Tennessee. I could smell the fresh Earth and hear all of the different livestock, fowl and outside dogs that guarded the animals, just as they did the house, from any predators. I recalled being a little girl dancing like no one watched, dreaming up inventions,

One time I was riding a horse that decided to leave the trail and I ended up hitting a branch with my face which hit me so hard a laid my back flat on the horse. I ended up with a black eye and a cut above my right eye. The other thing that was fun was camping down by the river next to the oil pumps. Until one time I got my car stuck in the sand and had to have a tow truck come down to pull me out.

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

“The House I Live In,” a movie that explains the war on drugs from multiple perspectives from addict to enforcement and lawmaker between.

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.