It stood out from all the rest in the peaceful neighborhood where my grandparent’s house was. The glittering white paint that seemed to never fade, the garden where rose bushes, lilies, elephant ears, trumpet plants and hibiscus filled the earth around you with welcoming colors and the sense of warmth and love. Every awaking moment of my childhood was spent there. My grandparents house was a place of comfort and security, and yet also one of sorrow.
December never fails. It is the coldest month of the entire year, every year, yet that never stopped anyone from gathering at my grandparent’s house for my birthday and Christmas. During my birthdays, the air was filled with the sweet aroma of barbeque, the laughter of kids, and the choice of music of the evenings get together. The backyard had an atmosphere of excitement, while inside was subtle and chaos from trying to make sure everything goes as planned. Christmas surpassed any other holiday. The holiday represented all that my grandparents were. Faith, family and gratefulness. Their house was surrounded in holiday spirit with beaut...
“We walked through a high hallway into a bright rose-colored space, fragilely bound into the house by French windows at either end. The windows were ajar and gleaming white against the fresh grass outside that seemed to grow a little way into the house” (7).
As individuals, we learn the most about ourselves through the collective compassion of family. Ironically, the people who share the most in common with us through blood create the most unique experiences in our lives. Our strengths, weaknesses, and the dizzying nature of life are all stabilized by our bloodlines. In Pat Mora's House of Houses, the chaotic rhythmic motions of life are expressed through the detailed organization of nature and time inside of a whimsical Adobe house as the novel unfolds the stories of her ancestors. Never is an event or memory differentiated from one part of time in Mora’s adobe house.
My mind started to wonder though each room of the house, the kitchen where mom used to spend every waking hour in. The music room where dad maintained the instrument so carefully like one day people would come and play them, but that day never came, the house was always painfully empty. The house never quite lived to be the house my parents wanted, dust bunnies always danced across the floor, shelves were always slightly crooked even when you fixed them. My parents were from high class families that always had some party to host. Their children were disappointments, for we
My favorite holiday is Christmas because I feel joyful. Also, I can feel how warm the atmosphere is, almost like a fireplace. In an apartment with white walls, there is the living room with a tall, dark green Christmas tree decorated with colorful blue, pink and purple Christmas ornaments, and colorful red bright lights. In the meantime, my mom and my husband are cooking dinner, and there is the smell of a pumpkin candle burning on top of the table. While we wait for the food to be ready, we all sit down in the living room to watch some classic movies like “Rudolph”, “The Little Drummer Boy”, and even if it’s not classic “Dr. Seuss, How the Grinch Stole Christmas”.
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...
As I walked through the door of the funeral home, the floral arrangements blurred into a sea of vivid colors. Wiping away my tears, I headed over to the collage of photographs of my grandfather. His smile seemed to transcend the image on the pictures, and for a moment, I could almost hear his laughter and see his eyes dancing as they tended to do when he told one of his famous jokes. My eyes scanned the old photographs, searching for myself amidst the images. They came to rest on a photo of Grandpa holding me in his lap when I was probably no more than four years old. The flowers surrounding me once again blended into an array of hues as I let my mind wander……
Shining lights, tasty treats, family coming in and pinching children's cheeks, the joy of gifts and the thrill of giving -- all these things are what can be expected during the holiday seasons. Grandma is cooking in the kitchen as you are sitting on the floor and staring inquisitively at the mesmerizing tree. Only one thing, though, is truly on your young mind, the multicolored themed wrapped up boxes beneath its dark pine branches. You think back to the other holidays where you received prizes and were allowed freedom. Like that one Halloween the first time you went as a makeshift sheet ghost. Appreciating the cool autumn air as it lead you into the night then greeting every welcoming person with a candy bowl with "trick or treat"! Possibly even reliving that one fateful February day where your first crush snuck you a chocolate kiss and a bright red card entailing the cliché poem involving violets and roses. You never question the origin of these days and yet you still reveled in the fun. Holidays show the truth behind what humans may think as sacred, traditional and what is important to their natural culture and life styles. Holidays also give people the opportunity to "blow off steam" and have something to look forward to in the simplistic patterns of living in a routine daily life. Holidays are shown as major rites and customary influences of ritualistic comfort throughout having annual celebrations. However, beneath the veneer of fun and celebrations these holidays , Valentines Day, Halloween, and Christmas, lies a sinister history that needs explored.
I stepped out of the chilly November air and into the warmth of my home. The first snowfall of the year had hit early in the morning, and the soft, powdery snow provided entertainment for hours. As I laid my furry mittens and warm hat on the bench to dry, I was immediately greeted with the rich scent of sweet apple pie, pumpkin pie, mashed potatoes, and the twenty-pound turkey my mother was preparing for our Thanksgiving feast.
Today it seems as though Christmas has fallen victim to materialism and commercialization. Rather than it being a time of loving and giving, it has become a stressful season of greed. Amidst all the hustle and bustle, it is important for us to recognize the true reason of the season, and celebrate in a fashion that exemplifies that reason.
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.
As I look back on my childhood a great number of memories hide in my mind; sleepovers with friends, hanging upside down on the monkey bars, eating ice cream are but a few. The one memory that doesn't hide is of the postcard perfect house that I love and adore. From the hearty cattails and rose brown apple trees to the grilled cheese, this place reminds me of my childhood fun but also the love that my whole family shared. The red brick house and its surroundings will keep my memories forever.
We slowly crept around the corner, finally sneaking a peek at our cabin. As I hopped out of the front seat of the truck, a sharp sense of loneliness came over me. I looked around and saw nothing but the leaves on the trees glittering from the constant blowing wind. Catching myself standing staring around me at all the beautiful trees, I noticed that the trees have not changed at all, but still stand tall and as close as usual. I realized that the trees surrounding the cabin are similar to the being of my family: the feelings of never being parted when were all together staying at our cabin.
The air is really fresh, and the wind is comfortable. Grandma usually opened the window during the daytime; I still remembered that feeling when the sunshine came in house and scatter. I walking among those numerous grand trees and admire colored leaves on the trees and on the ground. I miss that feeling of calmness and stability of the world around. I wish I could return the reality of those feelings once more. Memories in mind and never forget about happiness of staying in my grandmother’s house. Grandparent’s time-honored gift to their grandchildren is their unconditional love, unfettered by schedules, routines or commitments. They reinforced their grandchildren’s sense of security and self-value.
In many ways Christmas is similar to Thanksgiving in the way we celebrate it. We switch sides, sometimes Christmas is at our house, tons of food is made and we play games. Depending on what side of the family we’re spending Christmas with, there’s a theme, for example, about two or three years ago we spent Christmas with my mom’s side of the family and it was a pajama party and last Christmas we spent with my dad’s side the theme was ugly Christmas sweaters. Every year no matter where we spend Christmas, we always have to get some of my great grandma’s amazing and delicious Champurrado. She makes Champurrado every single year, she won’t tell anyone how she makes it for some reason, but her Champurrado is like heaven in a cup. On both sides of my family,it’s tradition for us get together on Christmas Eve and we have dinner, watch movies, play games, and even take naps, all until midnight and that’s when we open our presents. Also, on both sides, the adults do White Elephant and sometimes depending on what the majority vote is, they’ll do a secret santa exchange. The only thing my mom’s side of the family does differently than my dad’s, is that prior to getting together on Christmas Eve, the adults put each kid’s name in a hat and each person draws a name, and the name they draw is the kid they have to buy a gift for, and they’ll say the least or most amount of money they can spend on that gift.
My family and I live about four hours away from Price, but that still doesn't stop us from going to visit as often as possible. The drive there is rather boring, but it's worth being able to see the familiar landscape of my past. After driving through a small town known as Wellington, I know that I am within minutes of being able to glance at my second home. I wait with anxiety as the car makes its way ever closer to the bridge that crosses the river, which runs right by the property of my Grandpa. Ahead I can see the old house and all the rickety, old buildings and corrals surrounding it. The excitement mounts inside as I let myself out of the car and make my way up toward the front porch. As I gently touch the cold, handmade iron railings that line the wooden steps, I know I've reached my destination.