I remember the back door of Grandma’s house swinging open. I can still hear the spring stretching, squeaking and pulling the door shut with a solid thunk. I can see the porcelain kitchen sink, the linoleum floor and the baker’s cabinet where she stored all that she needed to make noodles or cookies…I can still see it all.

In my mind, I can return to the times when I sat under the arbor, picking Concord grapes that hung from above. I remember chewing on the tough skins and spitting them out on the grass, and Grandma was in the yard maybe pulling weeds from among the day lilies along the side of the house or clipping some baby’s breath to add to a bouquet. [Read more...]