The West is more beautiful this year than ever before. The sun is brighter. The air is clearer. The dust swirls in exotic plumes that accompany us down every road, hurrying along behind.I watched hungrily out the window and relished every sagebrush and antelope moment.
Then we were here. In an Idaho town in an old house on a street of chain link fences and barking dogs.
I stumbled from the van and up the cement steps into Grandma's soft little hug. I didn't look around or examine my surroundings now. It would be the same, I knew.
I hope to never see it change. I will plug my ears and shut my eyes but I won't accept this house's alteration.
Dear Grandma's House, please keep your blessed consistency! Never cast off your royal blue shag carpet and 60's sofa. Never part with those stiff orange curtains. Bid not the crunchy porch furniture and frightening brown basement spiders of unusual size farewell. The musty smell becomes you. Your shower that doesn't drain is beloved, you know.
Can you know? Can you truly understand what you mean to us? Yes, I think you do. After all, you must know us better than anyone.
If I was ridiculous enough to talk to inanimate objects, I'd thank you. Instead, I will thank God for this strange little treasure of a home in dusty Idaho. Thank God.
