Some people’s homes are sleek and modern.
Me? My house is done in “Grandma”. It took me a long time to realize this, but now that I see it, damned if it ain’t all over the place…
While there are certainly a couple of good pieces of furniture, most of my household stuff has been purchased at garage sales, thrift stores, even found, abandoned, in alleys.
Turn of the century artwork?
Depression Era glass? Doilies? Plants and piles of books everywhere? Check. If I could find that crying-onion cutting board – and if I could fit in the kitchen sink for a bath like I used to – I’d be right back at Grandma’s.
All this confinement to the house this past weekend has made me nostalgic. Looking around, it’s hit me what I’ve done. It’s not a recreation of the farm house by any means, but Grandma would be at home here.
I think we recreate where we are happiest, safest. It’s not always our grandmothers, of course, but how often has the hand that patted yours been freckled, the eyes that kindly held yours crinkly with old age.
I miss the old folks.