Grandma’s house inside hasn’t changed much either. There’s no longer carpet, but the wood floors are still warm throughout. There are little figurines, statues, and trinkets throughout the house, all on top little dollies and hankies. Little dust collectors and nothing but junk to me, but to her, something else, although I’m not quite sure I’ll ever understand. Old pictures of family, her grandkids; I included, and great grandkids can be seen throughout the kitchen in various mismatching frames from the dollar store. There are fake flowers in various spots through the house, oddly enough, none are dusty.
Upon my return to Canada and my visitation at my grandmother’s house she quickly offered me her bed. It was much convincing that I took it, more like harsh looks she can give when she wants her way or is displeased with you. In my younger years I use to sleep beside her in a queen size bed, myself always next to the wall, and on the wall, a soft blanket with deer. It was always comforting to me as I lay there trying to fall asleep with the screeches of raccoons and the old noises of the furnace running my hand across the blanket, petting the deer. As I lay here now I do the same, the racoons no longer make the awful noises in the walls, the chimney long being fixed, and the old furnace has long been replaced. The old blanket still lays there and still gives me comfort though. Something I find myself in need of in my current state.
Up until I turned around fifteen or sixteen my grandma would drag me to church every Sunday. Something I never enjoyed. There were always religious relics throughout the house, and it seems as the same as the figurines and other dainty ornaments, the amount of religious statues, pictures, and books have also increased in amount. There was a time I thought it freaky, as if God was always watching what I was doing, and judging my every move, now with everything even though I still by any means hold no particular religious values, these treasures of hers bring me comfort.
These things and the comfort foods, the favourites of which she cooks for me, her need to care for, take care of, and do for everyone. Amidst her dark and tough exterior sometimes, she is often soft. She is from an older harder generation from a hard time. All these things and her house are after all what make my grandma who she is. They are what makes my grandma her and for that I love her.