My Experience At My Grandmother 's House

If I had the opportunity to interview anybody in my family it’d be my grandma because she grew up very poor and had to work for everything she ever received. She now is a millionaire and has traveled all over the globe. Grandma has always been a brilliant lady, and has had a full life.

It was near the end of winter 2005, when my grand-aunt suddenly fell ill. In a short period of time her illness worsened and the doctors informed my family, my grand-aunt only had a couple of months to live. The news was devastating to my family as we watched a vivacious, independent, and outspoken woman, who enjoyed shopping, reading mystery novels and spending time with family become very weak and confined to her bed. Instead of placing my grand-aunt in a hospice facility, my family and I, with the assistance of a hospice nurse cared for my grand-aunt in her home until her passing.

Religion has always been around for many years and will continue to live on. Since 2014, there are an estimated 4,200 different religions, all over the world each believing in different things Having their own set of rules and tradition that must be followed. Storytelling became a way to give people advice or telling people what would happen if they disobey their religious rules or tradition. In the story of a grandmother, it critiques religion for the way it can lead to snap judgments and a loss of freedom.

It was just another ordinary Thursday for my mother in the small town of Oratorio de Concepcion in rural El Salvador. Just like any other eight year old in 1980, she got up, brushed her teeth, quickly pulled her knotted hair into a high ponytail, and left for school. The short distance she walked was filled with the sounds of worn out shoes hitting the dirt road as children ran by excited to start a new day at the town’s only elementary school. After hours of sitting in a classroom surrounded by grey concrete bricks, once the last bell rang, she would wait at the entrance gate for her younger brother and cousin. They walked back down the dirt road together while kicking a deflated soccer ball to their home where their grandmother would be waiting for them with a little snack. My mother, her older

I hear it from my bed, my mom’s flip-flops hitting the floor. Dread fills me as the footsteps get closer and closer. “Si se la pasa ahorita”. She forces the phone into my hand and mouths that es tu abuelita. She walks out and I’m left with silence on the other line. I take a deep breath and practice the words in my head as quickly as I can. “Hola Abuelita, como estas?” A million things run through my head. I could tell her about my friends, my grades, the movie that I saw or how I really love her and how I miss her, but none of that comes out. It’s a quick “how are you?...I’m good...Say hi to everyone for me. I love you” I hurriedly end the conversation, pushing the phone back into my mom’s hands and running away to my room.

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

June 17,2014 it was a day when I went to Mexico. That morning I went to the airport of savannah. My plane was at 7:30, I left my house at 5:45 to go to the airport with my family. I got in a red truck, inside the truck had leather seats, black carpets, three seats in the front, and three seats in the back. My uncle was driving, my dad was in the passenger seat, and my mom was in the back with me and my brother Justin. My aunt was driving in her own car. Her car is a van, the color of the van is tan, two seats in the front, two seats in the middle, in the middle of the two seats there was a path so the people can go to the back, and at the back there was three seats. My cousin lindsey and my other cousin joseph were in the car too.

Right across the street, five steps, five hops, and 2 giant steps that was all it took for me to get to my grandmas house from my front door to her front door, it was that easy. One glance out the window to make sure her small tan explorer was in there driveway and it was off to grandma's house, the place where most of my childhood memories formed,the place that was so old it traveled from Kentucky to Missouri with my grandparents, the place that meant a lot to me.

Ever get the chance to put together your own outfit for the day? Well, I mean literally have you ever had to sew together your outfit? If not, well let me start it off with “WOW!”, grandma's work isn’t as easy as it seems. Not only did i learn how difficult it is to sew, but i had the chance to be able to express my funny side. This week i chose as one of my portfolios a unique project, where i sewed together my outfit. At first, i envisioned it being a joke, since i would never wear it personally, but I saw the fun and good vibes it would bring to the classroom atmosphere. We started off with the simple idea of creating one of the outfits used by one of the boys in the movie, The Sound of Music. First, we had to sketch out a drawing of the outfit to get an

As we sat down for lunch, I eagerly waited to listen to the different stories she had to share. She began to describe a busy and difficult childhood. According to Experiencing Intercultural Communication, family history is “not written down but passed along orally from one generation to the next.” Mrs. Salas was born and raised in Tarimoro, Michoacan, Mexico; “a small town between Los Charcos and Tinaja.” It is here where she would wake up at the crack of dawn to complete her daily chores, “We didn’t use alarms, simply because we didn’t

It all began when I was about five years old, having sleepovers in my great grandma’s room. She loved telling stories and playing dress up with me. In her room she kept a lot of pillows on her bed. She had fancy pillows in a variety of sizes, shapes, colors, and textures. Every time I entered her room, she would allow me to jump around on the bed filled with pillows. All that jumping around and having all that fun felt amazing, and that's when I fell in love with one of her pillows and named it Bobby.

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.

October 10th, 2013 at 7:30pm. The day of my grandma death. The day that changed my life forever. The day I will never forget. My grandma was my everything, she was the lady who raised me since I was born. I never had a mother or father, the only person who cared for me was my grandma. The day my grandma died I was in my senior year of high school and I had just came home from cheerleading practice. That was an unusual day for me because when I woke up that morning my grandma wasn't up cooking breakfast like she usually does she was in her bed asleep still. I looked outside and the sun was just rising. I went in her room that morning before I left for school and said these exact words, "Good morning grandma if you’re not feeling well, I could stay home with you and take you to the doctor." In a raspy low voice my grandma replied, "Good morning sweetie I'm okay I was just feeling a little sick this morning but I'm better now. You better get to school now before you are late.” Okay, Grandma Love you, call me if you need me", I replied. On my way to school all I thought about was why my grandma sounded like that this morning and how she wasn't up doing her normal routine. I have never seen my grandma get sick before. She was always the one taking care of me making sure I was okay. But I just pushed the feeling over just thinking my grandma was okay and I was just overthinking. I should've stayed home that day. I should've noticed that my grandma really was sick.

June 11, 2015. It was a regular summer day, or so I thought. Only five days until my fifteenth birthday and I was super excited. My mom had taken the morning off from work to take my grandmother to the doctors. She was going for her regular heart check-up appointment. As we always did, my mother and I drove that morning over to the nursing home in St. Matthews, South Carolina. My mother had recently entered my grandmother into the nursing home because my mom needed to start working more and could not fulfill the obligations of taking care of my grandmother like she normally would. When we got to the nursing home, we parked the car under the awning which was in the front of the nursing and covered a little walkway where people loaded their family members. I got out first and headed back to the room as my mom followed closely behind. When I walked into the room, I saw my sweet loving grandmother sitting there. As always, my beautiful grandmother, with her white hair, her green eyes, her frail but beautiful skin, and her smile glistened as she awaited her day out. My grandmother did not get out much so even going to the doctors was a good day out for her. We helped her into her wheelchair, a normal struggle for my mother and I, and we rolled her down the hallway to the car. We loaded her into the car, another struggle, and we headed off to Orangeburg which was where the doctors office was. While riding to the doctor's office my grandmother mentioned that her hands looked green

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.