Why I Love... My Grandmother's House

My grandmother taught in elementary schools for over 30 years. When I was a small kid, I discovered her personal collection of children's books. It was tucked away in a corner of a guest bedroom, behind a rocking chair. I used to sequester myself in that corner, hiding behind the chair, and read through her stash of books. Even when I had read all the books, I would go back again and again. 

The only specific books I remember from that collection are King Bidgood's in the Bathtub and The Jolly Postman's Book and Other People's Letters. Despite remembering just two titles, I still get a warm and fuzzy feeling when I think of the time I spent hiding away reading for hours. I would usually tuck myself in that corner after going for a swim in the pool. My hair would slowly dry as I flipped through each book, completely absorbed in the words on the page. 

I'm 30 now, and that hazy sense of sun and the lingering aroma of my grandmother's house is one of my favorite feelings from childhood.