I loved going to my moms house. Something about that house and the gardens surrounding it made me feel like life was so much beautiful when i was in peace with myself.
Everything about this place intrigued me from the old swing on the mandarian tree to the cracks in the walls of my grandfathers study.
Each room held history that cant be told through someone elses word because you would have to find it, ask the objects around the room what they have to say and then, only then you would be able to find its beauty.
My grandfathers room was the most intresting of them all. I wish i could make you feel what i feel when i enter that room. You would label me crazy when you find out that i loved the dust ridden shelfs carrying magazines and books from long before my time. I loved the way that room captured a piece if time in its four walls. There was a desk on the left of the door. The desk itself was a adventure to emabark on. The countless ink pens and random assortment of stationery, letters he have received throughout his lifetime, stamps that could take you around the world, and in the drawers you would find gadgets and gizmos that would put Ariel to shame. I loved everything about it. I loved tracing my fingers upon the numerous lines of the desk that have fought its battle against time.
And likely my memories in this place were always pleasant nothing that i can muster up as sad or negative. I remember how sometimes at night i would find my sister and cousin sneaking into the kitchen to the pantry during the middle of the night and how i would quietly follow them but end up being found anyway.
This house upon the hill is my happy place. It isnt a castle or bungalow but in between these walls there glows a love that maybe stronger than what you can ever find in those houses. And for that i am forever grateful.