The simplest things make the best places

I’m cheating a little today and using the prompt, too much going on at work and in my head to clearly think of a good topic for today. However, today’s prompt is extremely fitting. Since Sunday, I have wanted to write a post about visiting my Grandmother’s house this weekend (a boring post about visiting your grandmother?). Yes, because visiting my Grandmother is a wonderful, sad, challenging event, and it just so happens that her house is also one of my favorite places on earth (Next to Disney and Hawaii I suppose).

Since I was born, vacations were always in that dirt road town, hidden deep in New Hampshire. Where everyone knows their neighbors, and cell phone service just recently became existent.

Her little one-bedroom house on the lake had everything we needed; grass for running, sand for building, and even a waterslide that I don’t think should have been deemed safe. We’d all pile into one attic room in our sleeping bags, waking every morning to the smell of bacon and coffee. At night the smells were replaced by vats of spaghetti sauce, or meat on the grill.

Days were spent racing through the water, my dad would make it a point to hit every wave with the speedboat. We’d learn to ski and by the end of the afternoon we could barely move from the exercise. Evenings were spent rocking with my dad in the screen house, more often than not watching a passing storm over the lake. Lightning would inevitably touch down in the yard, I would scream, and we’d hear endless stories of the times people have been hit.

We still go there from time to time. Less and less. We bring our own kids for visits now, never overnight. I still dream that it will be where I teach my boys to ski, where we can rock at night, drinking beers when they’re older, laughing about old stories my dad used to tell.

Except now when we go, it’s sad. It’s the same place, but there is so much missing. Her memory has faded to the point where she doesn’t remember day to day activities, and repeats herself often. Those big meals we’re used to are now provided by us, usually sandwiches prepared that morning and packed in a cooler. The boat is on the shore, probably never to be used again. And that slide, sits abandoned, looking out to the water.

This favorite place is still a favorite, but it’s someplace I never want to go. The reminders of happier days torment me, and the sadness of the loss that we’re all going to feel is constantly upon us, weighing down the quality time we should be spending.

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About Krista

Livin the poor life with the typical american family; husband, baby, and dogs. Happy to tell it like it is, the ins and outs of being a young, hip mom can be more hilarious than one might think ;)
This entry was posted in Family, Life In General, NaBloPoMo. Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to The simplest things make the best places

  1. Jenn says:

    Aww. I’m sure that so hard. I’m happy that you have some wonderful memories. Grandparents are treasures, for sure.

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