The house looked a lot smaller than I remembered, but other than that it appeared virtually unchanged. When I closed my eyes and thought of the events that that occurred when I lived and visited I was reminded of that magical tent in the Harry Potter books – small and unassuming from the outside, but opulent and spacious on the inside. As a small boy, I lived in that house for a while, while my father was training to be a teacher. The house was also a home for grandma’s daughters, granddaughters, great grandsons and grand nieces.
I think I’ll always feel a sense of gratitude for what grandma -and her house- brought to my life when I was growing up. There was the sense of extended family that she brought. Although I had some more distant relations, in the lower mainland, the family connection always seemed obscure, and grandma, her daughter, and her son were the only direct relatives we had east of Ontario. I remember the Christmas and Easter dinners that my parents, my brother and I celebrated in the big kitchen on the back of the house, and the music she’d playing, either records on an old phongraph, or on her piano. Grandma used to play the piano in dance halls and liked to tell stories about various local show business personalities that she had known. I just realized that her love of music, and talent, has been passed down through 4 generations. I don’t know if I’ll ever drive by the house again, but I’m happy that I made that detour and had the chance to reflect on someone who was very important in my life.
