Grandma's House

Grandma’s house (period), doesn’t that say it all?  Can you think of a better place: that brought about constant happiness, the best home-cooking, and the most distinct aromas?  My grandma shares her humble abode with my grandpa in Ord, Nebraska.  As a kid, my younger brothers and I constantly anticipated the three hour ride across Nebraska – three grueling hours – impatiently waiting to see my grandma and grandpa and make ourselves acquainted to their vast house. 

Squeezing out of our purple Dodge Caravan as we reached grandma and grandpa’s house, my three siblings and I would race to the front door surrounded by the beautifully mastered masonry.  The winner of the race received the prize of pressing the golden doorbell, which chimed an oddly unique tune.  The sound that always followed this chime was the warm, cordial chuckles of my grandma as she opened her front door, surprised to see her four favorite grandchildren piled before her.  The charismatic aura that followed her was always contagious, and her laughter could pierce heavenly light through a dark, cloudy day.  A warmhearted hug from my grandma and a firm handshake from my grandpa, and then the presence of us four kids was absent.  We would scramble downstairs and plop ourselves in front of the gigantic TV in the basement, saturating our brains with the long missed shows on Cartoon Network.  (At home we didn’t have cable, so half the anticipation of visiting grandma and grandpa was of course seeing them, but the other half was relieving the no cable hiatus). 

Occasionally, we would come upstairs and make our presence known.  Better than cable TV was making grilled-cheese sandwiches with my grandma using her Pampered Chief do-it-yourself sandwich griller.  Grandma always let us add extra cheese and butter; and if the sandwich ever burned, we’d make a fresh one and use the burned one to feed the birds out on the deck.  Food was rarely ever wasted; whatever we didn’t finish or disliked was used to feed birds or the farm dogs. 

It was extremely depressing every time we had to part ways and say good-bye to grandma and grandpa and their wonderful house.  One of us kids always tried to make up an excuse why we should stay longer, or accidently leave behind some article of clothing just so we’d have to return to get it when we were leaving.  This was usually me – I would sacrifice my favorite blue shirt just so we’d have to go back and get it.  But reentering into the beautiful home and rushing into the aroma of lavender, just to find my blue shirt already folded on the kitchen table, was worth it every time.