Visiting My Gram
As Martha continues her interior journey, her thoughts traipse back to a time in her childhood and the nostalgic moments with her Gram. Excerpted from Interior Designs.
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I thought about what my mother said to me during that lunch. How she had disappointed her mother when she got pregnant as a teenager. I couldn’t even imagine Grandma Rita as someone who had such expectations of perfection for her daughter.
Visiting my Grandma Rita was a high point in my life as a kid; even as a teenager, I still loved going into her home and discovering (or rediscovering) the world she had created there.
My grandmother was full of stories, and her home was stuffed with beautiful things that I loved. We always went in the back door, though, which, now that I thought about it, was kind of strange. We drove up a curving driveway that kept circling around until we ended up at the back door. I didn’t even think of the house as having a front door—not for many years, anyway.
We entered through the back porch, with its old-style washer; years later, a dryer would appear. Beyond the porch stood the kitchen, with its 1940s appliances and one of those booth-like eating areas, all in red and white. I remember curling up there, while Grandma served me Cream of Wheat, one of my all-time favorites, with cream instead of milk.
When we went into the living room, I always headed straight for that big comfy window seat; next to it, magazine racks contained every imaginable magazine. Something that had always been missing from my own home, because Marie thought magazines added too much clutter.
My favorites were Ladies’ Home Journal, Good Housekeeping, and those glossy decorating magazines that depicted every possible room arrangement. Beautifully arranged rooms with furniture I dreamed about. Someday, I once told myself, I will have rooms just like these.
At night, I curled up on the sleeping porch. Now that I think about it, the front door opened onto this porch, but I don’t think I’d ever come into the house this way.
Remembering how I felt at Grandma Rita’s made me want to visit her. Soon.
When was the last time I’d even called her on the telephone? I realized that I’d been so self-absorbed, so self-pitying, that I’d cast aside the people and things I loved the most.
I hadn’t even had lunch with any of my friends in recent weeks. But then again, who were my friends?
There were those people I invited to parties, but they were probably a few categories below friendship. Acquaintances, actually. These thoughts only took my mood down another several notches, or degrees, bordering on cold and alone.
I could definitely change some of what I saw in this landscape that was my life. Beginning with a nice long visit with Gran, who would serve up tea, maybe even some Cream of Wheat, and bring out her favorite magazines.
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