Descriptive Essay Grandmother

A Night at Grandma’s

When I stand in the foyer, taking off my coat, I realize just how small the place is. The narrow space is barely wide enough to open the closet door when there is more than one person standing there. The wire hangers rustle as I pick one to hang my coat on. My shoes make a whiffing noise as I wipe them on the carpet, and they squeak on the tiled floor. After I take them off, I stand up and look at the myriad of pictures hanging on the wall. I know all the people in them, but they seem like strangers because we are so young. The really old ones are yellowing around the edges and it is obvious that my grandfather took some of them because they are badly focused. My favorites are the ones that were taken

It is so white, it looks brand new even though it is twelve years old. It feels plushy, warm and soft under my feet. I go into the kitchen, and suddenly the floor changes. The floor is no longer soft and plushy carpet, it is hard and cold and my stocking feet slide easily as if I were on ice skates. The kitchen is so small it can barely accommodate all three of us at the same time. I sit in the rickety metal chair with the white pleather seat and pull-down step. The chair squeals with my every movement. I rest my elbows on the cold formica countertops as I talk to my grandma and grandpa. The sharp corner jabs into my side, and I quickly

The lettuce angrily snaps & sprays tiny droplets of water onto my face as I break leaves off and drop them into the bowl, and the pungent scent of spices and vinegar find their way into my nose when I dribble the homemade salad dressing onto the salad. Plastic claws ring out against the metal bowl as they grab the lettuce and toss it around to evenly distribute the vegetables and dressing. Plunk, plunk, plunk go the ice cubes into each glass. Grandpa heaves the gallon jug of wine up to the counter. It gurgles and glugs as the wine leaves and is replaced by air. I stand and watch his hand tremble from the weight of the jug as he pours the wine, not knowing whether to offer help. I flinch when I hear the clink of the lip of the heavy jug hit the lip of the glass. I am afraid that he will either break the glass, or drop the jug of wine. After he puts the wine away, I open a can of soda and begin pouring it into my glass. It hums and fizzles as it runs over the ice. I lift the glass to my lips to drink some before it overflows, but the foam tickles my nose and I giggle. The aromas coming from the kitchen make my mouth water, and my stomach bellows out in need of