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Grandfather's Hous

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Grandfathers House

His house, an edifice of dilapidated wood, reminds me of age. The white siding showed evidence of neglect. Paint chips had fallen off and collected on the window ledge and shudders, leaving small patches of wood showing. The shudders were brown and rough, like that of the bark of an old tree. Hanging askew, they gave the impression of experience. Before the front entrance stood a moss enclosed porch. The moss hung off the porch like motionless waves of the sea. Mounted in the porch stood a cast iron rail, while crooked, it still displayed the same strength as though it were new. A rickety old mailbox was erected next to the porch. The post had decayed from so many years of weathering; it amazed me that it still endured. The numbers on the mailbox were reminiscent of the seemingly ages that he'd been living there. As I recollect, they had always been there, each crudely dangling by their own minute nails. Each number showed signs of, long-since-faded, gold embossment, with spots of rust freckling their surface. The door looked like a ramshackle collection of scrap wood and glass hung loosely on its hinges.

Down the steps and larger than life was the yard. The front yard was a vast expanse of green, covered by sticks, which had fallen from the "great tree". The "great tree," as I called it, was a colossal tree that seemed to go all the way to the heavens. I often wondered what would happen if I could reach the top. There were lilac trees, which lined both sides of the front yard, leaving only a gap for the driveway that came through from the road. A gate, made from semi-bent steel bars and chicken wire, blocked the entranceway. The driveway, two strips of concrete separated by a grass median, led back to the garage.

The garage, like the house, also had a lot of years behind it. The roof of the garage was made of reddish shingles, which, due to age, were falling apart. Just outside the main garage door were two half-barrels, one on each side. These barrels smelt with a combination of Old Italian wine and freshly placed soil. Next to the barrels, lying on the ground was a collection of miscellaneous gardening tools, a small spade, a cultivator, a pair of trimming shears, and a tulip planter. Also sitting next to one of the finger like extensions of the cultivator was a small bag of seed packets. These seeds were the usual seeds my grandfather used for his garden. There were tomato, cucumber, and bell and chili pepper seeds. There were also squash, pumpkin, and watermelon seeds. Hanging on the side door to the garage was an old fireman's axe. The axe still shone with cherry red radiance, and the blade was a shimmering metallic sharpness in the afternoon sun.

Inside the garage was cluttered with boxes full of odds and ends from TVs, radios, and other diverse electronic equipment. Behind the boxes was an old workbench. This is where I can remember my grandfather doing his handiwork making picnic tables, fixing electronics, and sometimes just sitting drinking a beer thinking about what we would



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