Grandma's House
My most distinct childhood memories are at my Grandma Darlene's house, a quaint trailer on the edge of Anderson. Grandma lives near the end of a tiny little dirt road and has lived there for more than thirty years. We can barely get through the door because there are mountains and mountains of boxes, clothes and barrels filled with who knows what. At the bottom of all that there is a fairly large wooden rocking bench, my great uncle made right before his wife died. Cushioning these layers upon layers of junk is a nasty, old, mated scrap of carpet. The carpet is a burnt orange, calico color that has been stepped on and had people's shoes wiped off on more times than a welcome mat. Bordering the side of the porch is a barbecue from what looks like it is from the 1950's. It's all charred and where the black paint once was now is a thick coating of orange rust. In the corners there are millions of spiders that have taken up residence.
Once we conquered the spiders and climb over the massive piles of boxes, we open the spring loaded door and the smell of coffee and burning wood rushes over us. As we entered the living room we traveled back in time, to an old yet still messy Victorian house. In front of the door the floor is tile; four or five of the tiles are broken where my Papa dropped a hammer years ago. As we move deeper into the living room the floor changes to a gray carpet with yellow and brown stains in many different places. The big windows are draped with large lacey curtains and doilies surround the coffee table and all the sides' tables. We bounce down on a blue floral couch and set our stuff on the oak wood coffee table that is less than ten inches from our shins. Beneath this table there are golden po...
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...ig would scream over and over again until the lid was shut. Then in would come Grandma with her hands on her hips looking at us like we were so silly. In the end we would always get a cookie.
My Grandma Darlene's house is the simplest, homiest, and most wonderful place I could ever imagine. Her place might not seem like much but it's the little things that are most important. Her house contains so many of my fondest memorize. When I'm busy, angry or just frustrated, I wish and think back on the times when Ashley and I would dump the whole box of lucky charms all over the floor and only the marshmallows. It the simple things I miss like watching Scooby-Doo in my PJ's on Sunday morning, making sparkly crafts and play baseball. All of these fun thing where done at my grandma's and I'm sure there will be a lot more to do when I go over there this Thanksgiving.
I can’t remember ever living anywhere before living on Lantern Drive. It was a cozy neighborhood and everyone knew each other… which was also a downside when drama arose. The street was a cul-de-sac consisting of about twenty houses, I could tell you who lived in each house. My living arrangements were different than most kids in my town, but I didn’t mind. When you’re young the differences in your life don’t strike you as being a problem, which is quite lovely. I lived with my Step-Grandmother and my Grandfather. I called them “Mawmaw” and “Papa”. I know that you’re supposed to spell it “Pawpaw” but it will never be that to me. The house was small, old, and run down, but it has been
Marie’s grandparent’s had an old farm house, which was one of many homes in which she lived, that she remembers most. The house was huge, she learned to walk, climb stairs, and find hiding places in it. The house had a wide wrap around porch with several wide sets of stairs both in front and in back. She remembers sitting on the steps and playing with one of the cats, with which there was a lot of cats living on the farm...
perspective. The room is austerely decorated in period style with heavy cypress-green curtains on the back and side walls. The gold of the curtain tresses is revisited...
I resided deep within a wooded glen in this modest chalet. It served one denizen and perhaps a visitor. The floral wallpaper was faded, torn and warped. The dusty floor was constructed of uneven planks that whined and bent when pressure was applied. The furniture was minimal and simple. There was a twin mattress raised upon a metal structure and a long wooden table with a single chair. At one end, the table was blotched with red stains and scratches along the edges. The kitchen held a small stove and a cracked wooden counter was a large worn dinner plate and fine cutlery.
11:14 p.m.-I slowly ascend from my small wooden chair, and throw another blank sheet of paper on the already covered desk as I make my way to the door. Almost instantaneously I feel wiped of all energy and for a brief second that small bed, which I often complain of, looks homey and very welcoming. I shrug off the tiredness and sluggishly drag my feet behind me those few brief steps. Eyes blurry from weariness, I focus on a now bare area of my door which had previously been covered by a picture of something that was once funny or memorable, but now I can't seem to remember what it was. Either way, it's gone now and with pathetic intentions of finishing my homework I go to close the door. I take a peek down the hall just to assure myself one final time that there is nothing I would rather be doing and when there is nothing worth investigating, aside from a few laughs a couple rooms down, I continue to shut the door.
...nts' house. She spent many hours with me making cookies and teaming up on my brother. I told her all my secrets and dreams. When I had to go back home, she would always write me letters. They were actually written by my grandpa. My mom tried to read them to me, but I wouldn't let her. However, I didn't know how to read, so I finally had to give in and let her read them to me.
For many years I would pass by the house and long to stop and look at it. One day I realized that the house was just that, a house. While it served as a physical reminder of my childhood, the actual memories and experiences I had growing up there were what mattered, and they would stay with me forever.
Most people can’t locate Galveston, Texas, on a map, and those who can think of a dirty beach and Dr. Pepper’s national headquarters. You could ask a thousand people, and almost none of them would be able to find something special about G-Town, but I can. Galveston is the home of 156 of my aunts, uncles, and cousins. There was a rumor going around G-town that everyone with a Mexican background was related to the Moreno’s.
My favorite place in my mother’s house is the dining room. Every year, my mother’s house is chosen, by all of our family members, to host the holiday dinners and parties because of how elegant her dining room is.
The shrill cries of my alarm echo across vermilion painted walls, stirring my consciousness into an aware state. It is precisely eight o’clock on a warm summer Monday; the distant cries of mockingbirds can be heard above the soft whirring of cars passing our genteel residential street. My ears scan the house; it is quiet – barely a sound other than the tinkling of tags as our pets navigate the living room. The still morning air brought realization, with no children running around Mother must have already left for work. Never leaving my lax position I stretch and sigh, it is nice to not have to baby-sit my sister’s kids – my nieces and nephew – but I do miss the mornings where my mother would still kiss me goodbye.
The feeling of security that was so pure. It became a reminder of a time when everything was simple and it was so easy to find happiness in the most unexpected ways. I remember considering myself lucky whenever my mother would indulge in my pleas to play the piano. Never would have I thought that listening to the notes of “Send In the Clowns” or a song from Forrest Gump could give me so much joy. Another fond memory was our parents allowing my siblings and I to play in the rain. Being given permission to do so was already a big thing for us. To be able to enjoy such a simple act is something I hold unto. This house is the symbol of my childhood innocence and a life unmarred by worries. This is the place where I 've felt contentment in its most basic
grandparents’ house. They have cared for me like no one else could and I am very
My Childhood House When I was a child I used to live in a house which was very old and very big. To add a bit of ambience, there is one of the largest. graveyards across the nation right across my street. It used to give me creeps, especially around Halloween. The house was quite old if I remember rightly; I think it was built in.
The entire family got together and it was always a last minute thing but no matter what was going on we all decide we would go up to County Park Lake to have family time. There would be my grandma and my Aunts and Uncles and their kids when we pulled up to the parking lot. Under the shade trees the women would be sitting trying to stay cool and the older men of the family stand around a grill they would be sitting up the charcoal pyramid to lite to start grilling the food while the kids where at the tot lot playing the equipment you could hear the laughter of the kids playing . Also the mean talking about which is the best way to grill. The women would be laughing at the guys arguing over which way was bett...
There was never a dull moment growing up at the Kahaluu house. With my big family constantly having parties at Kahaluu, it gave my cousins and I the chance to have a lot of fun. When I say I have a big family, I really mean I have a big family. My mom has five siblings and with them there are twenty two grandchildren. It was always a good time with that large amount of people in one house every Sunday. It was crazy but I loved it! Having so many cousins in my generation caused all of us to have epic playtime at Kahaluu. Since my grandpa lives in the country, it gave all of us cousins the opportunity to do all sorts of things.