My Grandmother's House

Riding through a neighborhood in Central Austin, I saw houses that reminded me of my grandmother's house, and a cascade of memories washed over me.

Nanny died almost twenty years ago, four days after my birthday. 

I remember so much about her house.

The big tree in the front yard.

The steps where my sister and I posed in matching  spring dresses.

The car wash next door.

The rear steps with no railing that led to her backyard, where she hung her laundry on a line and we picked figs from a neighbor's tree.

Nanny's small green rocking chair that graced her living room now sits in my old room at my mother's house, and the chaise lounge from her bedroom now resides in my sister's old room.

I remember the little green stepstool I used to reach the sink in the kitchen and bathroom, and the Dr Seuss books she kept in the cabinet for me. When she died, I looked for them, but they were gone. I hope she gave them to a little soul who enjoyed them as much as I did.

I remember Friday night dinners with the aunts, uncles, and cousins - chicken soup, roasted chicken, gribenes (fried chicken fat with chopped egg and green onion, yes, we actually ate it and loved it!) and sand tart cookies. She was even invited on a local news program to make her famous sand tarts.

One of the most memorable things about Nanny's house was her porch swing. We all loved that swing. We knew Nanny was in decline because when we told her the swing had been stolen, she just shrugged and didn't say anything.

Houses are things.

Books, steps tools, rocking chairs and porch swings are things.

But they all hold memories.

Reminders that live within us, and become part of the stories we impart to future generations, long after the loved ones, and these objects, have moved on.

librarianintx 

Update: Mom let me know that Nanny was on TV making her mondel bread cookies, not her sand tarts. She called them her "pregnant cookies".