Friday, March 29, 2013

the log home

That's me, the little blondie in the car seat.
And that over there with the super cool glasses is my grandpa.

Some of my favorite memories from my childhood are with him. I remember riding in his truck with him sometimes. He drove around on the ranch property and would whistle most beautifully (as he still does). He would drive with his knees and eat fig neutons and call me "lissabell."

The day time was a time to play, but early in the mornings, and the evenings when the sun was setting, those were some of my favorite. The quiet times, when I liked to think about my life and think about the world, even at a young age. And the warm nights when grandpa would gather the kids together and we would sing primary songs and he would tell us the stories of Jesus. And grandma would fuss over us and spoil us and just love us and love us, and we always cried when it was time to go. The log home was a haven from the world, far away, with my family.  I remember being so, so sad when it was time to leave.

They don't live there anymore, but I visit the empty house every time I get the chance. Everywhere I look, I see another memory.

Is there a special place in your childhood you remember?

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