The sun beamed in through the
windows of the car creating a warm sensation on my shoulders and cheeks. I felt
the car stop moving, and the monotonous hum of the vehicle came to a halt. I
opened my eyes and looked between the two front seats occupied by my parents. I
observed a black stone eagle mounted on a garage. If that image alone had not
been enough to verify where we were, my sister’s next comment would have surely
cleared things up. “We’re here! We’re finally here! Let’s go find Nanny and
Pappy!” Without a second thought, before my mom or dad could tell us to carry
our bags in, my sister and I had escaped into our grandparents’ arms.
“I
have something for you girls once we get inside,” Nanny said with her pleasant,
grandmotherly charm. The smiles already glowing on our faces seemed to defy all
laws of nature as they grew in size.
“I
think they have something for us too, Loretta,” my Pappy said to her. My sister
and I looked at each other in confusion. “What’s that you’ve got there?” he
said with a chuckle, as he reached behind my sister’s ear and pulled out a
quarter. “Look what I found behind your ear! Don’t you ever clean those
things?” he exclaimed. My sister and I fell to the ground in a fit of
high-pitched giggles.
“You’re
silly, Pappy,” my sister and I said still trying to stifle our laughter. Soon
enough, my parents made their way over. With the adult greetings initiated, we charged
for the front door prepared to explore the fun and excitement that waited inside.
Through the screen door, through the heavy brown door, we had finally made it
into our childhood haven, the architectural sanctuary for our youthful memories
and dreams.
Visiting
my grandparents’ Florida home was an annual event for my entire family. It was
like a birthday, something I looked forward to every year. Each room was like a
beautifully wrapped gift begging to be opened. Every door was my gateway into
discovery, the taunting bow and paper that must be torn to reveal the contents
of such an anticipated parcel. Entering every room was like diving in the box, something
fun in every corner, something new for my grandma or grandpa to show me. Each
year brought new surprises, but traditions remained as well. Everything I knew
and loved lingered about the house year after year. My Nanny’s California
Raisins and the grapefruit tree in the backyard were always just as I had left
them.
Before
my journey through the house could begin, however, I was struck by an all too
common ailment of those engaged in long travels. My feet moved quickly on the
russet carpet; passing two bedrooms on my way, I reached my destination, the
bathroom at the end of the hall. I turned the doorknob and entered a warm,
bright room. My nose was suddenly filled with a sweet aroma. My eyes caught a
glimpse of the source. A basket filled with a variety of shower accoutrements
was placed daintily upon the commode; bath salts, bath beads, bubble bath, and
even a set of a miniature shampoo and conditioner stood positioned in the vat
of goodies. I reached in and pulled out a tiny round bath bead. It felt smooth
in my fingers, and I suddenly had a desire to pop the ball and release its
gooey contents. I squeezed it slightly but resisted my longing for destruction
of the bead. Fearing the repercussions of such an action, I placed the bead safely
back in its nest. Above the basket hung a tiny sign that my grandmother had
cross-stitched, a hobby she later taught me one lackadaisical afternoon. I
recited the words in my head as I looked at the elegant thread lettering, “If
you sprinkle when you tinkle, be a sweetie and wipe the seatie.” I chuckled at
the language that dangled on the wall before me, and it suddenly reminded me of
my favorite entertainment in that land of luxury. I moved closer to the sink,
and, sure enough, five tiny soaps in the shape of seashells were huddled on a
beautiful dish. Before I had time to explore the fascinating sculptures
further, however, I heard a knock at the door. It was my sister. “Hey, Dude is on Nickelodeon!” she said
with excitement. The news grasped me out of fantasy land, and I hustled to
finish my business at the end of the hall.
My
grandparents’ living room was a lavish suite for my sister and I. There was
nothing particularly intriguing about the room. It was relatively small; a
couch that folded out into a bed and two Lay-Z-Boy chairs took up the majority
of the area’s space. Photographs coated every timbered wall almost as if there
were no fortifications and only pictures from floor to ceiling. With seven
children and an innumerable amount of grandchildren, there is almost no
questioning as to why everywhere you looked in my grandparents’ living room, a
smiling relative was looking back at you. There was one gripping feature of this
room, however; it was of particular interest to my sister and me. Back at our
own home in Frederick we did not yet have cable television. When we went to
Florida, though, cable programming was at our fingertips for a whole week! It
was the opportunity to view our favorite Nickelodeon shows like Hey Dude and David the Gnome whenever we wanted. It was perfectly dreamy sitting
in front of the tube and turning the knob until the television rested on that
sacred channel. The living room held grandeur like no other room in the house. The
television, perfectly placed in the corner upon the earth-toned carpet, was of
epic proportions. Cable programming could be viewed from any seat in the room,
especially the up close and personal seats marked by four tiny dents from four
tiny cheeks in the carpet.
After
an hour or so of being loyal strictly to that box that stood before us, the
warm breeze of Florida in February began calling our name. The sun leaked into
the living room, engulfing us with its warm glow. Surrounded by the flowing
rays of light and the temperate zephyrs from outside, my sister and I saw no
other solution but to relax in the screened-in-porch with our grandpa. The room
was bright with vivacious green plants all around. A set of brilliant white patio
furniture filled the room with the finest plastic in town. I could smell the
citrus fruits of the grapefruit tree only a foot away. I heard a strange sound,
a buzz, or maybe it was more of a hum. I looked at my grandpa slouched in a
chair in the corner. His head was tilted back, and a strange noise came from
his nose as his breath tickled his long nose hairs. He was asleep, and that
strange noise was Pappy’s deep, billowing snore. My sister and I looked around
and decided that that was the perfect setting for our salon. Armed with makeup
and various pieces of hair décor, my sister and I beautified our deep sleeping
Pappy. My mother came in and laughed so hard when she caught a glimpse of her
father in blue eye shadow and pink lipstick. She called Nanny in, and the
laughter that ensued was enough to wake the sleeping bear. Everyone was rolling
with laughter, and after my Pappy was informed of the situation, he had a
chuckle too. “You girls are sneaky,” he said as he gave us a great hug that
lifted us from the ground.
My
sister and I were never finished exploring, and the end of our week in Florida
always snuck up on us like a nasty cold. As our car pulled out of the driveway
we smashed our hands and faces on the windows. Our eyes remained glued to the
house, craving one last glimpse even as it grew smaller and smaller in the
distance. Once the house was out of sight, and the black stone eagle could no
longer be spotted, my sister and I eagerly began the countdown for next year’s
thrilling trip.
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