There is just something about my grandparents’ house that tugs at my heart. Maybe it’s childhood memories of our visits tbere, or maybe it’s feeling that so much life has taken place in that one house…life that existed before I ever did. My mom grew up in that house. She got picked up for dates there. Got ready for prom there. Jumped on the beds and laughed with her friends there. Every corner has a story, a thought, a memory.
As I walked through the house a couple of weeks ago, I realized how much the colors, textures, and patterns evoke memories for me, of happy times and laughter. Of always getting a popsicle from the outdoor freezer…changing into my bathing suit in the outdoor bathroom…looking at the bottom of the pool and imaging my mom as a girl, riding her bike around the empty concrete cavern…chasing lizards around the pool deck…my cousin Brian always threatening to throw me in the pool fully clothed…taking luxurious naps on the seriously uncomfortable but mid-century-modern-chic couch…looking for change in grandpa’s chair cushions…sleeping on the floor next to my brother, blanket roll between us so we wouldn’t fight…playing Indians with my cousins and my grandpa…the list goes on.