Thursday, June 19, 2014

It's Thursday.

The Angry Bird.


I spent the day at my grandmothers. When my Mum lights a fire, I know I'm needed. It usually means she's burning something, my grandmother deems valuable, on the down low. Today it was a couch. I didn't take photos of the arson, but sitting in my grandmothers house made me appreciate what memories mean to me, specific to her and my Pops.

There was a reason my Pops gave his children boundaries when they were younger. Boundaries they had to keep within when they returned home from school and church. They were restricted to their drive way and as is typical in Ruralville, their grandmother and aunties lived next door and their homes fell within those boundaries.

We're the same with our kids today. The boundaries are a little further because of where we all are in the community, but they still remain within them. I think my grandfather had a vision when he built his house. Everything we need is within their property.

If we wanted a play ground .. we swung off the clothes line that stands some 15-20 feet up off the ground.

If we wanted to get up onto the roof, the shutters on the dungeon window acted as holds.

If we wanted to play golf or hockey .. we utilized the laundry room drain.

Yes, we even have a dungeon ...

... and for a few years, there was something spooky locked up in there.
No one ever saw it, we only ever heard about it.

Maybe one of the only houses in the community that still has an open fire place.

The bay window with the outdated photos.

The internal meter that probably has a dangerously high EMF rating.

The cubby. The spy hole. The eaves dropper into the kitchen/lounge where the adults would yap.

Old door handles with the handle replaced sideways..

The old lights that hang from vaulted ceilings.

"What does this string do?"
"Turns on the light?"
"Can we have a string light?"
"No. It's far to primitive for us".

Before frosted windows.

I think this decor is hideous myself, but there has always been something there in the family room.

The porch door.

More outdated photos.

The view.


Remnants of a tennis court.

In a ruralville houses, shoes must be removed, but gumboot removal is optional.

Built in bread bins.

The copper bin that Aunty Vi has wrecked by throwing wood into it. We toyed with the idea of replacing it with a wicker basket, but she'll probably set it aflame.

Why we don't buy lemons.

Why we don't buy mandarins.

It's become a memorable place as of late. The more time I spent down there, the more I appreciate it. There are only good memories here and I'm saying that even though I've only slept there a handful of times because I'd always run home in the middle of the night. It's where we all grew up. Where we all came together as a family and I fear that one day soon, it's going to stop being that place so, I'm glad I have these memories.


2 comments:

Melissa said...

Great, great post. I loved looking at all those pics.

Ariel Shultz said...

I'm excited to go see my grandma :) she still has paintings on the walls I made her when I was 3 :) its such a loving place full of happy memories.