When remembering my grandparent’s old house on an East Texas Hill, my thoughts reenter the red dirt road up to the house. We never went in at the front, but always drove around to the back, parked under the oak trees and, flinging open car doors, we ran to open arms and an open screen door in the back. That door took us into the large room known simply as the sleeping porch. It had windows all across two sides , was furnished with a big feather bed, the curved front bureau that now lives in my own front bedroom, some rocking chairs, a heater, and the oak dining table and china cabinet we now call ours.
I can picture going into the small kitchen just off the sleeping porch. There was a wood stove, a bucket of water with a dipper, and there Grandma produced peas and cornbread, fried chicken, homemade blackberry jelly, and my favorite treat, tea cakes. From the kitchen a door led into one of 3 front rooms which were separated by a long hall that had speckled blue linoleum dotted with white stars. On one wall sat a long chintz covered quilt box. That box is here in my house, too. On its surface sit family pictures, generations beyond my grandparents, but none of whom would have been possible without them!
At the end of the hall, the door opened onto the front porch. Two things pulled me there. One was a porch swing where I could sit and swing and read. The other was a large rose bush, planted at the corner where the house and porch met, just outside a bedroom window. It was a yellow rose, with large fragrant petals. My grandmother often filled a jar with these roses to put on the kitchen table. She didn’t have a car or an indoor bathroom, but she had roses. We would bury our noses in their softness and fragrance and thank God for this gift to us. When these roses had blessed us with their beauty for a brief time, and began to drop their petals on the table cloth, Grandma called this “shattering”. “Those roses have shattered,” she would say. I know that we use the same term for broken crystal and failed dreams, but in today’s bouquets, the shattering of the roses always brings a tender smile and a remembering of Grandma’s yellow roses.
Lord, I want to bloom today. Keep me together. Help me not to shatter.
I remember that house, too (if it is the Terrell's)
ReplyDeleteThank you for saving some of that furniture.
Who got the giant coke bottle doll?
Jim
Jim, many of my fondest memories are of being with Grandma and Papa in that place. I can see the white stars in the blue linoleum in the hall where I played jacks. I don't for sure about the giant coke bottle. My parents bought the land, but our grandparents stayed in the house until around 1964 when Papa died. Then they bought the house and moved Grandma near them. Renters were living there when it burned about 10 years later. No one was hurt in the fire,but the house was destroyed, along with furniture and family items stored in a locked front room. Still makes me sad to think of it.
ReplyDeleteMary Ann