Our House on Morris

This is my grandparents' house on tall-tree-lined Morris Avenue in Modesto, California. I recently visited it and took a few photos of my favorite spots inside. As a child I was sure it was pink, but perhaps a better word for its color is mauve. It was the house in which my mom was raised, where she and my dad lived for a couple summers with her parents, and it was our favorite weekend destination as children. 

Almost every time we entered we came through the laundry room. Evidence of Grandpa's dairy work, boots and lights, are tucked into the corners. I was always amazed at how clean this room seemed, knowing that Papa's boots had been covered in cow manure. I watched him "scrub in" many times with the nail scrub brush. I can remember the smell of the soap.

Grandma's kitchen was a welcoming sight. The first stop was always to hug Grandma Irene. She was usually there, unless she had met us at the backdoor. To the right on the table catalogs were stacked high--as I sorted through these stacks my love of mail-order shopping was born. I never did learn to love going the mall.  

Many of their things that I regularly saw as a child have been packed away, but a few things remained. Not the Oreos and Fruity Pebbles--those disappeared from the house when Grandma Irene passed away in 1998. The emptiness of the space drew my attention to the elements of the space itself, the dated functionality of the cupboard details, linoleum, and curtains. They seem so perfect to me now.

This orange tree brought back so many memories of enjoying citrus through California winters. We moved to California from Idaho when I was seven years old. I have a memory of drinking freshly-squeezed orange juice from the oranges from this tree shortly after that mid-winter move. "Why does orange juice from concentrate taste so bad," I wondered aloud at Grandma's table.

I have vague memories of the approximate time when they got this peach set of armchairs and ottomans. Papa sat in the one of the left. Grandma sat in the one on the right, rarely at the same time. One of my mom's lap quilts is still on the back of Grandma's seat. I wonder who crocheted the afghan underneath it. The Christmas tree, decorated with long, breakable ornaments and tinsel, was always set up to the left of Papa's chair.

I don't think this mantle changed much since Grandma Irene died. A couple things have been added, but this is how I remember it. At Christmas it took the whole span of the mantel to accommodate all of the generously-stuffed stockings.

My earliest memories of the low swivel chair include Great-grandpa Serpa, sitting in it quietly and watching television. The orange couch might be my favorite piece of furniture in their house--it is velvety and soft. I think it might have a fold-out bed in it, but I can' be sure. The low coffee table was always full of National Geographic magazines. Perhaps I got my Nat Geo collecting habit from Grandma Irene. I love that Papa's cane is sitting there now.

I mainly though of this hallway as the way to the game closet, but I now appreciate the pebbled glass and green rock planter detail. We were never allowed to play in the rocks which was so disappointing to me. I don't know what I would have done with them.

I wonder when the small ceramic frogs disappeared from the rocks. 

The game closet was really just the lower half of the linen closet. I was happy to see Racko and the bowling game there. I remember another shopping game in which you completed errands in a town. Many of the games had been in this spot since my mom was a girl.

My mom's room was also known as Grandma's room. I wish I could ask her about the print on the wall, the Grecian one of the woman's head. I always wondered about its origin. Grandma filled this room with framed photos which still line the dressers. Her record player and collection are not in the room anymore. Nor is the candy stash.

But our senior pictures are lined up in Grandma's room, with my mom's senior picture in front.

More clear cupboard doors--they are such a practical option.

Finally, the patio area in-between the detached garage and the house were last on my tour. Underneath or near these chimes we would enjoy popsicles on warm days. Grandma always had a great stash of those--Eskimo pies were my first choice and missile pops were my second choice, but she also had Jello pudding pops and classic popsicles.

 One summer after Grandma Irene passed away I worked at a nursery less than a mile from the Morris house and I would come to this spot to eat my lunch alone. Sometimes I would skip eating so that I could sit underneath the chimes with my eyes closed and listen to their music. Looking to my right I would see that orange tree outside Grandma's kitchen window with tiny green oranges just beginning to grow through that summer's heat.

I remember reading this sign for the first time when I was a new reader. The last line really resonated with me: "One is nearer gods heart in a garden than anywhere else on earth." Grandma Irene's garden space was very small, but it was always brimming with petunias and pansies and marigolds. She loved her camellia tree by the front door, her lemon tree outside the bedroom windows, and her roses. 

I should have gone searching for the tricycles we would ride in the backyard, but I snapped pictures of the big swinging gate and the back fence along the alley instead. I just learned that Grandma and Papa installed this gate when my parents were home from medical school for a summer and the street was a concern. I should had figured it had a story like that but I had never asked.