Memory Box

You have the side door open.

I see this while driving by. The busy intersection where your house sits on the corner lot. It used to be my grandmother's house. No doubt it's had several owners.

Seeing the open door, looking in to the kitchen, I am reminded of the days gone by when Gummy used to live there. That expansive, yet simple kitchen. We would sometimes sit and drink coffee or tea or soda in that kitchen, around the big table that could seat upwards of six people. We'd sit and chat, my grandmother, my mother and I. Sometimes others. Friends of the family. Spoons and cups clinking on the saucers.

Do you know that a grandmother cooked for her little grandson in that kitchen? She did. She would make his favorite food: macaroni & cheese. She'd try and make it as good as she could, because that is what all good grandmothers do. It would be full of shells covered in butter and lots of gooey cheese. And it was awesome, because it was tasty, and because it was made with love.

The living room was right off of the kitchen. That's where Gummy and I would eat the mac & cheese she'd made, talk, and watch TV. We would camp out there on overnight stays, on the pull-out sofa bed. One time I had us watch my favorite movie, Amadeus, and I think she liked it.

It was always a treat to head over to Gummy's house. Now it's your house. As noted earlier, it's had many owners. Each of them have created memories there, both good and bad. The ones I have of my grandmother were mostly good. I hope yours are, too.

You see what you did by having that side door open as I drove by the other night? Being able to see into that kitchen a bit, it brought back those memories like a rush of blood to the head. And what a rush.

So, please, take care of that house. Somewhere in that memory box are the traces of a wonderful older woman and her younger grandson, enjoying a time spent together that would never come again.