Last September, I wrote a post titled Cleaning House and Discovering Old Poems. Well, I’ve been cleaning house again—that’s
why I’ve taken a brief break from blogging. This time, I am truly a woman on a
mission. I’ve been throwing away TONS of stuff—except for old poems. My
library/office in my basement had become so cluttered and disorganized that it
was difficult to find things. (That wasn’t the only room in the house that needed
attention!) It feels so good to be getting rid of things that I don’t need or
no longer use…to be organized…to have room once more in my cupboards and
drawers and closets…to be able to locate things easily.
While going through all my stuff, I found
some old photographs and newspaper clippings. Memories came flooding back—memories
of family…friends…times past…places we have traveled to. I also began to think about
all the happy memories the house where I live holds for me. I admit that I have
a sentimental attachment to my home of thirty-six years.
There is another house that holds a
special place in my heart. It’s the home of my maternal grandparents where I
spent many of my of my happiest childhood days. This Friday, I’m taking a stroll down
memory lane with the following poem about my grandparents’ house.
A
Home for the Seasons
My
grandparents’ house seems to hug their shady street.
A
white duplex, its twin front doors
stand
side by side
just
three steps up from the sidewalk.
We
always enter the house through the side door.
Stepping
into the kitchen,
we
find Babci sitting at the far end of the table
spooning
filling onto circles of homemade dough
and
making pierogis, crocheting afghans,
or
snipping lacy designs from paper—
a
traditional folk art she learned in Poland.
Sometimes
we see her painting flowers on the cupboard doors
or
hanging starched curtains she embroidered by hand.
The
aroma of stuffed cabbage or babka baking in the oven
often
greets us at the door.
Most
days, Dzidzi spends outdoors tending to his garden
or
painting the shutters green
or
mending the picket fence
or
building a backyard fireplace for summertime barbecues.
My
grandparents always busy themselves
making
their place a special place
for
the family to gather throughout the year,
making
it a home for all the seasons.
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Tabatha has the Poetry Friday Roundup at The Opposite
of Indifference.
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