Going to Grandma's

I guess last weekend was pretty eventful. This is post #3 inspired by the two days.

I went to Grandma's house for the first time since somebody else has lived there. The new inhabitants have erected fences outside and walls inside. But to me, it's still Grandma's house. In my mind, I can still walk in from the carport, turn around the corner, and see her sitting in her chair, the ceiling fan whizzing above her. If I let my mind wander back almost ten years, the chair beside her is not empty. Granddaddy sits there. As I turn the corner, he says, "Hey, pretty girl! Whatcha know?" Their chairs are two of the four recliners in this one room. There's a couch along the wall - which is almost covered with pictures of Trussell children - between the door and Grandma, and there's a love seat on the wall across from the big screen TV and the little gas heater. A small bookshelf is below a window to outside, between the TV and the door. Between Granddaddy and the love seat is a hat (or coat) rack holding caps and gourds. Behind the two recliners on the far end of the room are a couple of bookshelves and the toys that have survived at least three generations of Trussells. On the wall with the love seat is a window into Grandma's kitchen. A small TV sits in the window so Grandma never has to choose between a meal and Wheel of Fortune.

I wish I were an artist and could paint the scenes of Grandma's house. So much of what is Grandma's house could never be conveyed on canvas, but I would like to try. I don't want to forget.

Unless you are one of the six (or 10, if you count the greats) who had the privilege of calling this place Grandma's house, you may not understand this post or the significance of what I have described. For us, I have described a picture of happy memories.
-mo

Moville