Memories Up Close

We said goodbye to our Grandma Barber earlier this year, and this week, we said goodbye to her home.  Aunt Carol is all moved in with Randa and Steve, and the house is pretty much empty.  I went out one last time, wanting to soak up all the memories and take some pictures.  As I wandered around, I realized how much that home on Marcus Way meant to me.  I spent a lot of time at my Grandma and Grandpa Barber's: between sleepovers, staying there when my mom and dad traveled, and when I was off-track from school, I was there quite often.  It was so bittersweet to realize that was all gone.  I almost half expected to see my grandma storm through the door and ask what in the world we were doing, while my grandpa smiled from his chair in the corner.

So, here are the memories I have.  These pictures may not mean much to anyone else, but each one brings back such strong images.

The vestibule:

I remember my grandpa sitting on the front porch looking out at the yard.  Overflowing containers of plants. The light filtering through the lace curtains, and the smell of fresh rolls.   

The old front door:

The sound of the old door creaking shut at night.  The rich yellow bottle panes.  Cross-stitched sayings on the walls.  Wood paneling and a fireplace with Little Women dolls proudly displayed.

The basement window:

Sitting in the basement watching movies.  Return to Snowy River.  Hans Christian Anderson.  Waiting for a glimpse of a visitor as they walked past the window. 

The sewing table:

Pieces of fabric.  Pins on the floor.  The wood quilting frames taking up the space.  Laying underneath a quilt being tied and watching the needles go in and out.  Pinched fingers from tying a thick quilt.

The washroom:

Bottles of canned fruit lining the walls.  Bright orange carpet.  Sitting next to the wheat grinder filling a tupperware container with the fine powder of freshly ground flour.

The attic:

Possibly my favorite spot in the house.  Pulling the string to turn on the bare light bulb.  Climbing up the creaking stairs.  Building forts and having tea. 

The grapes:

Home-made grape juice in old jelly glasses.  Hiding in the leaves.  The old gate with the wooden latch and triangle peep-hole. 

The wires:

Swinging, swinging; being so afraid to touch the wires stretching to the house, but secretly wanting to as well.  Watching my cousins try.  Hooking swings together and pretending they were trains or horses. 

The shed:

The smell - wood and tools.  Croquet mallets.  The canal behind - climbing the chain link fence.  Yelling to Cassie as she played at school across the way.

The bench:

Grandma and Grandpa sitting on that bench.  Roses that Grandma carefully cultivated.  Glass vases filled with peach and red blooms.

I'll always have such fond memories of that house in West Valley, and hope to build some just like them in my home.