As a child, going to Grandma's house was always fun. She lived in LA, about 6 hours away from where I grew up. It meant a long drive, sleeping in the office, playing with the wooden games, and always crowding around the pump organ to gently play the little finger songs that we were allowed to play. There were many memories at Grandma's house. It was always there, but it never changed.
No longer. Instead of going to Grandma's house, a small piece of Grandma's house came to me. After a few years in a nursing home, Grandma has come to realize that she should sell the house. My dad (along with his siblings) spent 2 weeks going through her possessions and dividing everything among children and grandchildren. I didn't think there was any bit of a possibility, but the old pump organ came to live with me, along with a wooden game, a painting done by her and a few other trinkets. It looks lovely in my front room. My favorite part is when I open the organ, I get a pleasant whiff of "Grandma's house."
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