The Little Frame House (standard:other, 1087 words)
Author: Wildstangtoo	Added: Jul 08 2006	Views/Reads: 2963/1938	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Remembering days gone by.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

stare out across the fields as though he were admiring his handy work.  
I would run around the yard playing chase with the hound or pester one 
of my uncles.  Grandma would still be in the house washing dishes, 
sweeping the dust from the floors, or preparing the beds.  It seemed as 
though her work was never complete, for she seldom joined us. 

When the sun had closed its eyes and the moon was watching over us,
grandpa would stand, stretch he arms, spit out his chew, and announce 
that it was time for bed.  To a young boy it was still early and new 
adventures lurked just around the corner of the house.  But I knew 
better than to question grandpa's authority, and I would follow him 
inside. 

I wipe a tear from my eye as I sit in my car and stare at the house.  I
reminisce about my grandparents and all the wonderful days I spent 
there as a child.  The times my uncle took me fishing, bought me candy, 
or gave me that cigar which made me deathly ill.   I visit those 
memories when my life becomes tangled, my direction unsure, or life's 
purpose seems vague. 

As I pull away,  I feel safe and protected by the love they gave me, the
treasures of life they taught me, and that the house, though it isn't 
what it once was, is standing as a monument to them. For grandpa has 
long since moved his bed from the small house to a resting place shaded 
by a Maple tree in summer, and covered by snow in the winter.  And 
grandma lies beside him, her work now competed. 


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