I Found Timelessness at Grandmother’s House (Grandma's House)

Last but not least, Mama and Ruth have the aspiration of living in a new home. The apartment in which they currently reside is small, dark, and handled with care: "the furnishings of this room were actually selected with care and love and hope [. . .]" (988). It is evident that the home is a very important to the Younger family and it is a critical

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.

I made my way to my aunt’s house. Her home smelled of fresh cut pine, and she offered me a cup of coffee with a cinnamon stick in it. I accepted, and we went to the kitchen table and discussed our week. As she talked, I looked out her kitchen table. A small oak grew in the front yard. Snow capped the birdfeeder beside her bird bath.

She gestures us inside and I could cringe at the aroma alone. The smell of channelle makes me think someone dropped a whole bottle. Other than that, though, the view, at first sight, reminds me of my grandparents. My grandma would bake the cookies and while my grandpa would munch on them, she would put everything back where it belongs and makes sure everything is left neat. The mahogany table is perfect for two people, maybe four and the kitchen space is just the right size for my cooking needs. A maple red door frame leads to the living room and the antique upright piano the color of amber is the first insight. Every one of the eighty-eight keys and its leather padded bench contributes to its value.

After two long hours of traveling with nothing to look at but the passing trees, we finally arrived at the farm. As we piled out of the car, I looked at the dirt road we came in on and turned to the house. It was one story and had a red tin roof, surrounded by a large grassy field and then woods beyond that. Twirling around, I walked into the house and plopped onto the closes bed. As everyone else unpacked, I locked myself in the room like a petulant child.

journey that symbolize something in her life. One type of symbolism used would be that the

Tranquil gusts kissed my skin; the sweet sensation of a breeze and the rustle of the trees’ leaves sung me a lullaby. As I lie, back to my trampoline and limbs sprawled, my mind would undergo a sort of cleansing, ridding me of my troubles. My home held my childhood; it possessed memories that had accumulated from day one, intertwining and condensing them to forge a place that would bear peace and serenity. I never contemplated departure, even when it was apparent my parents sought for a better place to reside, for no place could replace my home. Alas, my assumptions were proven to be erroneous.

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

My grandma, whom we call Lola, had always been an exceptional woman. As an immigrant from the Phillipines, she sought new, exciting things; which was present in New York City. Lola loved being in the moment and helping others. In the city, she worked as an entertainment manager for a nursing home. Her pleasure in bringing joy to a gloomy place was incredible. A loving grandma, she always found a way to commute to New Jersey to see my family and I. She always made my day with her witty jokes. Lola’s smile would illuminate the whole room the moment she walked in.

It was a distinguished neighborhood, stately houses with sprawling porches made for sipping cold drinks and entertaining guests. Fourteen thirty-seven Twain Street was nestled at the far end the street. The house actually looked out of place when compared to the neighborhood, if it could even be considered a part of the neighborhood. The house was located roughly a quarter mile up the street from the closest neighbor, undiscernible from the woods that surrounded it. I stopped at the gate and regarded the worn house. It was made in the same style as the others in the neighborhood, but something about it made it different. It had character. The paint wasn’t peeling, but it had weathered the long hot sun for many a day and it had begun to form lines, giving the house the impression of a wrinkled and withered old

“I could tell you some memories, but there is so much to tell.” There was too much to tell. Grandma is the type of person that you could make endless memories with. I have so much memories of her. My parents would tell stories about my grandmother whenever we got Frosties at Wendy’s. When I was a baby, Grandma would be in the backseat with me and sneak spoonfuls of Frosty in my tiny mouth. My parents caught Grandma and told her to not continue feeding me. She would sneak more until we were home.

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.

Even though it was summer it was still a comfortable morning where it was hot but with a perfect cool breeze.It was a time before my mom and dad had divorced.I ran outside and played barfoot in the grass while my mom and dad fixed up and old garden we had in the corner of our yard.We lived in a small but perfectly cozy house with a basement and my best friend Sasha,Sasha was a beautiful young dog at the time.

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.