Sometimes, I just want to go to Grandma's house. I want a giant magnolia tree. A dirt driveway. Brown carpet. A dozen recliners. An abundance of food. Someone to ask, "What ya know, Miss Priss?" The soft hum of a refrigerator and/or a box fan. Her occasional snore. No computer. Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy on a weeknight or a Sunday afternoon nap during a Braves game. To wake up just in time for the last out. Quiet. Peace.
One year ago today, she was buried. Grandma's house will never know such peace again. Not sure I will, either. Only in sweet memories.
-mo
Moville
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