My Grandma’s House

My grandma has, until recently, lived in the same house since long before I was born. It’s an old Victorian near downtown Largo, Florida that has a lot of character with a couple of unusually large bedrooms, the original hard-wood floors, antique door-knobs and built-in knick-knack shelves. It is old, creaky and drafty – not to mention hard to maintain and more difficult all the time for Grandma to maneuver because of the second story. So, despite the character, I don’t blame her for wanting something new after almost 50 years.

But, even still I am having to come to terms with the loss of this house in our family. My first memory ever was in the unusually large upstairs bedroom. I was still in a crib and just learned how to jimmy the side down and get out. I caused my young mom some frustration, I’m sure as I climbed out again and again to get into bed with her. I then remember the small toddler bed she got me with the brand new brick-colored ribbed bedspread that smelled like maple syrup. Yes, I swear it smelled like maple syrup – I have no idea why but even then I knew it was wonderful.

My great-grandmother lived just two doors down and we would often drop by to visit her. She had a great house, too with a back bedroom complete with toy box just for us little ones when we came over.

After mom and I moved into our new permanent little house in Clearwater, we still visited Grandma often – especially on the holidays. My most favorite memories of my childhood are in that old house of hers at Thanksgiving – adults at the big table, kids at the little table and lots of yummy traditional Thanksgiving foods to eat. There was turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes (lumpy and I wouldn’t have it any other way), cranberry sauce from a can, home-made dinner rolls and the pumpkin pies my mom and I would make from scratch together at home beforehand. To this day, these are my absolute favorite foods to eat and I insist on having them each year no matter what my family says. I don’t’ think I ever even asked Andy his Thanksgiving preference – there is only one meal for me at Thanksgiving. However, we have made a few changes like the homemade cranberry sauce Vienna wanted and learned how to make. This is a great addition to the wonderful traditions started in that old house.

But, it wasn’t the food that made those times so special – it was the people of my family. My uncles, Carl, Rick, Steve and Larry- my aunts, Sheila and Linda – my cousins which were few at that time – just Cliff and Teri – and of course, my mom and grandma. All these people were so special to me and I have great memories of each of them.

This is not a unique story and these are not unique people – except in the fact that they all got along. Mine was never one of those loud, obnoxious, argumentative families that make such funny and dramatic movies. The adults tended to sit around the living room sharing news of other family members with long pregnant pauses of silence, never feeling awkward but enjoying the peace of the house and the day. Only Uncle Rick would be an occasional rabble-rouser, striking up a light-hearted argument stemming from someone disagreeing with his obvious right-ness. He could irritate his siblings, for sure – especially my mom, but there would rarely be hard feelings left over.

There was also the obligatory viewing of the photo albums, an activity that I continued throughout the years. Grandma has always been faithful at keeping them current and reliving our history through them is always a treat. I remember gathering them onto the couch and flipping through the pages and enjoying the images of my mom and her brothers as children and hearing the stories that went with them.

There would of course be times of activity when grandma was cooking, setting the table and getting people to help in one way or another. Sitting around the table at dinner was much the same – family style serving and calm but interesting conversation interspersed with laughter. We kids would fool around and laugh at our little table as most kids do but never caused any real problems. But, I don’t remember even one time of drama or fighting in our family gatherings– that would be the one unique trait we have. I love my family because of that. We all loved each other and while things in our individual homes were never perfect, our times together reflected that love and caring for each other.

Through the years, things changed – branches of the family moved away, the gatherings got smaller, Grandma eventually turned the cooking over to others but the house was still there and family was always welcome anytime. As each family grew in number they would take turns staying at Grandma’s house – sometimes crowded in the back upstairs bedroom which was about the size of two living rooms so could hold all 6 of my Uncle Rick’s kids, Uncle Larry’s 3 or a combination of everyone- on the bed, in sleeping bags and on the pull-out couch-bed. Sometimes people were really crammed in there – and that’s when I loved it! When there were tons of people, it was always a blast.

Later when my cousins grew up, they started bringing their own kids to Grandma’s house, and I brought Vienna. A new generation of great-grandchildren got to know Grandma and her wonderful house. More folks lived far away, including us who moved to Georgia, Ohio and then California but there was always room at Grandma’s house and the feeling was always the same – calm, happy, peaceful – just like a home should be – a haven from the world. Often, when Andy, Vienna and I would have a harrowing adventure driving or flying across the country, we would find ourselves finally at rest in the upstairs bedrooms of Grandma’s house – hearing the crickets and birds outside but otherwise, completely quiet. This was peace. This was comfort. This was home.

I know many in the family agree that we are going to pine for those days in that old house. My cousin, Gwen has the great idea of getting all the antique doorknobs out for a keepsake. (Sorry, Gwen, Grandma told me and now I want one, too! Uncle Larry’s gonna see what he can do.) I felt that pang of sadness as I walked through the old house this weekend, taking pictures and packing up my mom’s stuff to ship home. I remembered that I used to climb the tree in the yard when I was little and thought about the locusts that used to live on the side of the house – they scared and fascinated me at the same time. But, as I got to know my grandma’s new house, I felt better.

It is perfect for her – one-story, spacious, bright, clean, much newer and has an amazing tree in the front that I want to climb one day – and she has brought all her old furniture with her which all has great memories: the pull-out couch, her lazy-boy that her kids got her years ago and fits her just right, the old wooden chairs and couch with the square cushions and of course the rocking chair – my favorite piece that as a kid I would have to relinquish to my wonderful Uncle Carl who loved it, too. And, best of all, Grandma brought the spirit of that old house with her – the peace, the comfort and the joy are all there and it was a pleasure to be there with her.

Then I realized, of course she brought that spirit with her because she is that spirit of the old house. The house had that feeling because she was there. She is calm and peaceful and happy. She taught her children to be the same and they have taught their children. And now, the new house has that spirit, too. Grandma is the matriarch of our family and wherever she goes, the spirit of our family goes no matter which house she lives in. Thank you, Grandma for creating that spirit and fostering it through the generations. I’ll miss the old house but I can love your new home, too.

For more pics of both houses check out my Facebook Albums: Grandma's Old House and Grandma's New House.