Over the River And Through the Woods

I wasn't born a California Girl. I didn't actually live in California until the age of two, but once we moved here, to be near Mom's parents, we stayed. So many of my best childhood memories revolve around the most comforting place in the whole world: Grandma's House.

Aaron and I spent a lot of time with our grandparents, and we were lucky to have them as long as we did. Going to Grandma and Grandpa's house meant a talking Snoopy doll, baths in the kitchen sink (when I was very little), and whatever we wanted for dinner. Aaron always wanted noodles with butter. Grandma always provided.

Grandma and Grandpa's house meant barbecue--Grandpa loved to grill and had a huge brick barbecue built in an indoor/outdoor addition to the house. No matter what he was grilling, he always threw a couple of slices of bologna on for Aaron and me.

Spending the night at Grandma and Grandpa's house meant watching Grandpa use his shoe horn to remove his shoes, eating popcorn and watching "The Dukes of Hazard" or "Love Boat" with Grandma in the living room. Sitting on Grandma's foot stool and getting back scratches. Taking over the living room with our giant box of Legos. Walking to the baseball field down the street to collect cans and bottles, and going to the recycling center with Grandpa, who always let Aaron and I split the cash. Fires in the fireplace during the winter, and watching the train, several blocks away, go by from the living room window.

Grandma and Grandpa's house was never too cold or too hot. The beds were just right. The hugs were plentiful.

There's no place like home...and there's no place like Grandma and Grandpa's house.



The last time I went in that house was in 1994, after Grandma died. We cleared out the house and put it on the market. It sold and someone else moved in. In the few times I've driven by in the years since, I've never been able to think of it as someone else's house. That's Grandma and Grandpa's house. It's my memories.