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"Mmmmmmm….." The warm scent of pancakes and waffles drifts up the stairs to
my room. I hear the faint echoing of footsteps throughout the silent house
like sound of distant church bells, ringing in the New Year. Outside, the
biting winter air sweeps wickedly through the tall trees. I lay snug in my
bed, wrapped tightly in a pink down comforter, under layers of fluffy
blankets, warm as can be. Downstairs, the TV babbles on, just barely audible
from the second story. I smile to myself and nestle into a ball, curling up
in the sheets. I love visiting Grandma and Grandpa.
As I lay there in that familiar pink guest room, with its identical closets
and its windows overlooking the icy swimming pool, floods of memories come
rushing back into my fifteen-year-old head. Suddenly I am five years old
again, just arriving in Huntsville, Alabama to see my beloved grandparents.
I jump out of the white Ford Taurus, my wispy brown hair swinging in two
pigtails on either side of my head, and race towards the garage door to meet
the man and woman of the hour: Grandma and Grandpa! I run into each of
their arms, welcoming the warm hugs that they are so eager to offer.
Excitement surges through my veins as we make our way into the house. I
have always loved going to Grandma and Grandpa's!
With one foot inside the door I am met by Maggie, my grandparent's enormous
yellow lab. After bounding right up to me, she flops onto the floor,
sticking one paw in the air, as if pleading, "please pet me." I reach down,
giving her belly a quick rub. As I stand back up, the smell of a ham cooking
in the oven wafts in from the kitchen, as if calling my name, and Maggie's.
She follows me into the kitchen, hopping in circles around me, alerting me
that it is time for her doggie treat. I push a chair over to the tall,
wooden cabinets. Hoisting myself up, I reach into the treat box on the top
shelf and gently toss one down to the anxious dog. After the long climb
down, I am ready to get settled into my room. I shoulder my belongings and
find my way to the stairs, making a quick stop at the candy bowl first, of
course.
I quickly pop a gooey Nestlé's Treasure into my mouth as I begin to climb
the steep stairs that, at that age, felt more like Mt. Everest. As I hike,
my bare toes burrow deep into the soft white carpet. I mull over the
thought that Grandma's house holds one of the best supplies of sweets that I
have ever seen. After all, the counters are always cluttered with
containers of jelly doughnuts, slices of freshly baked cake, even
Tupperware full of an assortment of yummy cookies. Yup, Pat and John
Harrity sure do know how to stock a kitchen!
As I near the top of the seemingly never-ending staircase, the second floor
slowly begins to come into view, like a beautiful sunrise inching over the
horizon. Before I know it, I have reached the top. "Wow!" I exclaim aloud,
"It sure is good to be at Grandma's again!"
"Creeaaakkk," the door made a delicate moaning sound as I pushed it aside
and stepped into the room. It was just how I had remembered it. The walls
were painted a smooth, pale pink and the dark wooden furniture gave the
space a comfortable, homey atmosphere. The noisy ceiling fan hummed its
familiar hum as I happily surveyed my room. After a quick scan, my eyes
rested on the little wooden dressing table towards the back. I stepped
towards the tiny piece of furniture and delicately eased myself onto the
small yellow wooden seat that fit be just right. Carefully swinging my
knees under the table, I faced the familiar, rectangular make-up mirror,
bordered by miniature light bulbs, and stared deep inside. It was here, at
this table, that I had always pretended to put on blush from the elegant,
long-since-full, compacts and would dab droplet's of perfume onto my neck,
marveling over how lovely I looked and smelled. As I gaze into that mirror,
I am overwhelmed by a sense of serenity and safety. Life is perfect.
"Carla," I hear a soft voice call. "Carla, time to wake up." I had been
dreaming. I open my eyes to see a woman standing at the foot of my bed. Her
brown hair neatly brushed and her warm, brown eyes smile down at me.
"Grandma," I say with a happy yawn. I move my long legs to the other side of
the bed and she takes a seat next to me. "It's a little after noon and
everyone else is up," she says. "Come on downstairs and I'll make some
lunch for you." With that she smiles and leaves the room.
As I hear her retreating footsteps down the staircase that, at one point,
seemed so steep and endless, I realize how much older I have gotten, both in
age and mind. I discover that being at Grandma and Grandpa's house has a
completely different meaning to me now. With each visit, I discover how
important my time with them truly is. No longer are they people who occupy
the "neat house" or supply the "coolest presents" at Christmas time, they
are the people who love me and who I, in return, love just as much. With
each visit to Huntsville, Alabama, each sight of the beautiful brick house
on Dotson Drive, I am reminded of the two people who are so important to me
and who I love so much, Grandma and Grandpa.
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