I've always loved my grandparent's house. I've practically grown up in this quaint little country home; I'm familiar with every sunny corner, and each of it's little nooks and crannies. I used to gently touch and softly ooh over ever delicate and pretty thing of my grandma's. I can remember being about six years old, and running my hands down the piano's shiny ivory keys, and listening to the slightly off key tinkling. I remember making cookies with my grandma, and then eating them on my grandpa's lap. This place holds so many memories for me -- I can practically smell them when I walk in the door.
Please take note of the Dr. Pepper on the counter. I have trained them well.
Each room is warm and inviting;everything from the well-trodden stairs, to the homey kitchen, to living room with the squashy couches. Simply walking through this place brings back memories of birthday parties, movie nights, and the whispers of past Christmases.
Oh, and apparently it's strange to put marshmallows in your Dr. Pepper? Who knew! :P
Now I'm too big to hide with my cousins under the bed; I've outgrown my grandparent's laps, and I no longer host tea parties in my grandpa's fishing boat. But that's okay. This place is still like home to me, even though I'm not a little girl anymore.
Besides, I'm watching this one learn to love this place as much as I do. And that's more than enough.