A Visit to Grandma's (writing 2)

On an old road where cows lie and their calves grow, there is a house behind a tree, but in front of a forest. An old black mailbox with the numbers 464 engraved on it tells the tale of a housekeeper who’s been there forever. The house is a brisk blue with a cemented pathway that leads to the wide screened door. The musty air hits you as soon as you walk in the door, and old "Sanford & Son" sitcoms can be heard throughout the house. The floor creaks and the smell of mustard greens and fresh trout symbolizes the "get together" of a close family. This is my Grandmother’s house.

On most Sundays before the passing of my beloved grandmother, our family got together and enjoyed the taste of good collard greens, fried porkchops, mac and cheese, chicken and dumplings and many more tasty items. I remember my grandma use to say, "Greens taste the best when a little frost hit em" and boy was she right. The taste of all these foods were enough to put local restaurants out of business - grandma could cook. Holidays were the best. On Thanksgiving we’d eat Turkey, the best dressing in the world with a little giblet gravy, a big juicy ham with pineapples for that sweet taste, duck with a little ginger dressing and a little peppercorn for the tangy taste and you were lucky if you had room for dessert. Sweet potato pie, Red velvet cake, banana pudding, and the ever so famous Potato soufflé.

On a day when she wasn’t cooking, you’d just stop and see her out in her lush garden pulling out weeds and planting the biggest petunias and elephant plants you’d ever seen. Sometimes you’d see her sitting in her rocking chair shucking corn with her long gray hair blowing in the wind. Like any other old person, she’d be on the phone gossiping about what happened in the family or watching her daily soap operas. She’d braid her hair and put on her housedress and go to cleaning. Her house was open to anyone in need. There is no surprise as to who you may see, from grandchildren to cousins, and to people from the church, her house was a harbor to all.
One thing about grandma’s house is it never had an exact smell, only smells you could remember. For instance, the beginning of spring meant the house would smell of pine and lemon furniture cleaner. In the summer the house would smell of dust and musty air from the fans and air conditioners. In fall the house would smell of cinnamon and in the wintertime the house would smell of old kerosene heaters. When you smelled whiting and trout somebody was coming over or grandma was in a good mood. The smells most memorable were the summer BBQ’s, the smell of hickory smoked ribs and grilled hotdogs were unimaginable.

At Grandma’s house you’d hear a blend of Al Green, Sam Cooke, and the Isley Brothers playing on an old record player. The sound of grease popping and the dryer going constantly is a lingering sound as are the doors slamming shut and the weak but demanding voice of grandma hollering at us kids telling us to stay in or out of the house. On get togethers you’d hear laughter and old stories about something someone did that was so embarrassing. You’d occasionally hear stray dogs barking and whining for food. You might even hear the sound of TV land or "The Price is Right" game show. One sound you would’ve gotten use to though is the sound of grandma’s footsteps going through the house. Her feet were so heavy that it sounded like a marching band or a parade going through the house.

When you first walk in grandma’s house you suddenly feel the warmth of her presence. The "Home Sweet Home" displays make you feel cozy and welcome. The greatest feel of all though is the one when you get the great big old hug from grandma that lets you know she’s happy to see you. The texture of her rough yet soft hands grasps your cheeks in an effort to let you know how beautiful you are. The sofa in the living room feels rough and worn out but makes the best sleeping accommodations.

From sundown to sunup the smell and the vision of my grandma’s house always lingers. Although she is gone she will never be forgotten. The house remains at still and the things that were once there aren’t anymore. I love to visit every once in a while just to catch up on old times, however the feelings not the same. From the meals to the holidays and best times my grandma’s house is the best place to visit in the world. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.