Narrative Essay On My Grandparents House

“Do you know what the farmer’s name is? Does he have a big family? How many other ponies will be there when we arrive? Do they have a bigger farm than we do now?” Molly flooded her mom with questions that she had no idea how to answer.

“I will have none of it!“ His clenched fist strikes the wall beside them startling the horses across the stable. “We must get back to work before Elizabeth gets home, I can’t have her finding out about us.”

The house was absolutely gorgeous-floor to ceiling windows, stained wood everywhere, and a huge yard. The barn, however, was less aesthetically pleasing. The stalls had been left unused for ages, filled with what my great-grandfather would consider excellent fertilizer. Old saddles and bridles were spread across the barn aisle, collecting cobwebs and dust. The only living things in the musty old barn were ill-tempered chickens and a litter of feral kittens. The horses stood outside the barn eating grass, quite content to stay where they were despite the lack of fencing keeping them in place. Vania pointed out the one for sale and my mind was made up. She was a beautiful horse, my dream horse in fact. She was solid black, the kind that didn’t fade, even in constant sunlight, short but muscular, with a white star on the middle of her head. She had a wonderfully refined face with the kindest eyes I’d ever seen on a horse. Of course it’s not realistic to buy a horse based on looks alone, so we saddled her up. She was a little shorter than what I usually preferred, but everything else was so perfect that it didn’t matter. Most Quarter Horses are rough when asked for speed, oftentimes being about as comfortable to ride as a jackhammer. Not this horse. Her trot was impossibly smooth, a gait even the newest rider could

After the game and all the excitement I left with Taylor and Sydni we were on our back to Taylor's house when she suggested that we should stopped at the old creepy "haunted" barn on the back side of the of the woods

“Look at me, Ally! I’m riding a horse all by myself!” Kylie giggled to me with a smile larger than life on her face. This was just one of many small, but special moments I experienced at Camp Koski.

We didn’t always live on Mason Park Way. Before it was Biddeford Pl on the first floor and before that it was the eleventh floor in Belgium and before that I can’t remember. By the time we got to Biddeford Pl, it was the four of us. Me my mom my brother and my dad. Until we had moved to our house on Mason Park Way, I never fully understood what having a family and a home meant to me. The house on Mason Park Way is ours. We don’t have to worry about paying rent or keeping the immaculate white walls clean. It’s ours and we have the liberty to do whatever we want. And it’s big. The large rugs are cozy and our furniture is inviting. And it’s ours.

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.

Against odds appearing as though they could never get conquered, I’d managed to climb out of an inescapable hole. Upon reaching the halfway point of a six-week Summer 2012 crash course in Intermediate Spanish, my grade stood at an awful 74% (or a solid C). A big opportunity for redemption soon arrived in the form of an assignment to give a four-to-six-minute presentation in Spanish about someone who has affected my life in a profound and powerful way. Using notes taken during a visit one weekend to Grandpa’s house, I gave a speech Professor Almonte thought was bueno enough to merit an ‘A’ grade. Feeling my confidence bolstered, I tackled the remaining tasks with a renewed dedication and completed what was back then my greatest academic turnaround

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.

It was a gigantic sound which came from the kitchen room and I and my cousin sister, Shaky, came out from our room. Not only me and my cousin but also our whole family including the neighbors came by heard that massive sound.

I close the car door and step onto the snow covered pavement. The dogs bark inside of my aunt’s house, and my family and I walk in. I am greeted by my aunts, uncles, and grandma on my dad’s side. My cousins, who are much older than me, sit in the living room enjoying the store bought peanuts, popcorn, and trail mix. I make my way past the crowded kitchen and settle on the stained couch. “Yeti”, the classic Christmas SYFY movie, plays on the TV. Unique ornaments cover the Christmas tree, while the dim Christmas lights reveal the dust that lingers on the worn out wooden floor. Before I know it, Lena and Hanse, my aunt’s two boxers, jump on my lap. They lick, drool, and nibble on me with excitement. I pet the dogs, but gently push them onto my sister. Brianne rolls her eyes, and nudges the dogs onto the floor. My grandma rests on the old rocking chair, laughing at the chaos. My aunt Bev sits on the couch beside my grandma. Both are dressed in Christmas sweaters, and have freshly permed hair. It is hard to keep a conversation with them because they both struggle with hearing. Trying to pay attention to the predictable show, my stomach growls; however, the smells that drift into the living room from the kitchen are not appetizing. Therefore, I take a small bowl of popcorn and trail mix.

My Grandmother’s house will always have a special place in my heart. I love it so much because it’s her only house in Florida. She was raised up in the Cayman Islands, where she spent most of her life until she moved down to Florida. When she came to move in, I was about 10 and was overly excited to help her move in. Driving into the neighborhood, the first thing I noticed was that all the houses looked very similar, a dark brown roof with white walls and some stairs leading to the front door, which always seemed to creep me out. When I got to my Grandmother’s house, it was in the corner of a cul de sac. In the middle of the cul de sac, was a very large oak tree surrounded by dark green bushes with different colored plants and surrounding it was a cement curb. The tree stood about 50 feet tall and the bushes were bright green with red leaves on them and changed colors during the fall. In front of the house to the left was a patch of grass for a garden and to the right was a sidewalk that would lead to the backyard. When I walked in, the first thing to grab my eye was this giant mirror she had in the living room. It’s one of the biggest mirrors i’ve seen. It stood maybe about 50 feet tall and covers the whole back wall of her living room. Upstairs, she has two guest bedrooms along with her own master bedroom. Downstairs was the kitchen and dining room and in the kitchen she had an enclosed patio as well as one next to the living room. Both patios lead to the backyard where

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.