My Grandma Johnson has in a comfortable
house with an olden-days look to it. The back yard stretches out
forever, to a workshed that hasn’t been touched since my Grandpa
died. There used to be all kinds of interesting tools and plumbing
fittings in there. Now, I think, there’s probably nothing left
except dust and poisonous spiders. The front yard has a big carob
tree, that’s good for climbing. It’s got an oak tree, with
acorns underneath. You have to wear shoes when you go out there
though, because the oak leaves are prickly.
Inside, the furniture is green plush
and maple tables, and a bookcase full of Readers Digest Condensed
Books from the 50’s in one corner. There’s a cage with no bird
in it (but the parakeet’s memory is still there in the pecked
places on the arm-covers), and a record player that no one’s used
in the entire time I can remember. The smell is dust from the air
conditioner in the window, and a faint whiff of gas from the stove.
