To Grandma's house you go...

I haven't been writing to y'all.

I haven't been writing to anyone at all.

I've been mostly, since my return from the Bay Area last week, playing an awful lot of Spider Solitaire and staring at the boxes in my new room in the Big Purple House wondering just where in the hell all of this is supposed to go.

There's something to be said for living out of a backpack.

Oh goodness people. Scattered.

Here's some pictures to help break up all the monotony that is sure to be underfoot here shortly. I'll use this blog to take you to my Grandmother's house in San Leandro where I spent New Year's Day.

Here's kind of an "artsy" photograph of Mike and Grandpa, chillin' at the dinner table. Grandpa had grilled to perfection some very nice cuts of meat, which we ate with potatoes and salad. My Uncle Ken was there, along with his wife and my Dad and Liz.



There's my Dad there on the left, Grandma in the foreground, not wanting her picture taken. I'm sorry I didn't get a better picture of Liz in there, whose sort of tucked behind her son Mike.



When the topic of conversation turned to politics I decided to venture into the house. I love making the rounds at Grandma's house, just to see all those familiars. Here's a wall hanging of my Dad and Uncle's little kid hands.



I love coming to this house because it's been virtually unchanged. I've been coming here my entire life. The ornaments change given the season, but everything else, like some of these books that I looked at when I was a child, is the same. At least to me.



The small sitting room where this bookshelf is remains clean and quiet. There is always the softest strain of the classical station playing in here. The music lulling out of an grand stereo cabinet.

I don't remember us hanging out in this room very often; although I do have memories of one Christmas when I had my Walkman - the old school personal cassete players with those orange headphones. My Great-grandmother, Nana Gehl was still with us and I recall putting those headphones on her, letting her listen to whatever it was I was playing on it. Pink Floyd or the Doors maybe. I also had a tape of Beethoven's Emperor Concerto that I was particularly fond of. I remember her being gracious about it all, as she was about everything.

Here's Grandma's kitchen. I can't even begin to imagine how many meals have come out of this efficient little space. My mother always tells me that it was Grandma Jardin who taught her how to cook. I wish I taken a picture of the stove there.



Behind that door there leads the steepest stairs imaginable, taking you down into the cellar. We were rarely allowed down, in fact there was always a child-proof gate that cordoned us off. I know there are canning jars down there, but other than that...it's still kind of a mystery. The fridge, to the right of this photo, always has 7-UP. Always.

My grandfather worked for Pacific Bell, as did my father, so there's all these old phones displayed.



This one is very cool, and very worthy of playing with when we were young.



I wonder if they ever imagined, talking into this contraption, that in fifty years time we would hold our telephones in our pockets and take them with us everywhere.

I wish I had taken more pictures here, but these will have to do for now. It's a lovely, soft house. There is nothing threatening about this place at all, never has been. I'm always reminded of days in the park with Grandma, and those blessed trips to the library she would take us on; where I would come back laden with books to fall asleep to, happy as a clam.

And cookies...we did a good deal of cookie baking.

Hmmmm...okay, I'm really trying to get you guys caught up. Will talk again sooner rather than later.