Home Again, Home Again

When I was little and I spent the night at Grandma's house I always slept in "The Middle Room." It's the smallest room in the house (and has since been turned into an office) but I liked the it much more than the "The Corner Room." Maybe is was the extra-long twin bed (the double in the other room seemed too big) or the fact it was laid out a lot like my bedroom at home, but since no one else wanted it I claimed the room as my own. Each night Grandma would come into the room to tuck me in and read me a story. It was always one of my favorite parts of the visit, and when I concentrate hard on the memory I can almost hear the rise and fall of her voice and the slow scrape of the pages turning against the bedspread.

The bedtime routine is a little different now. Grandma retreats into the bedroom early in the evening, usually to watch TV (she claims the sound is much better on the old set in there than it is on the new TV in the living room) and sort through the last bits of the day's paper. Eventually she changes into her nightgown and starts to the long process of getting ready for bed. Don't ask me what all that entails because I couldn't begin to tell you, but I know it takes awhile. At some point I wander back toward the guest room and stick my head in to see what she's doing. A conversation inevitably ensues. Before long I'm perched on the side of her bed, trading stories and reliving shared memories. Grandma will share something slightly shocking -- nothing scandalous but something I didn't know about her. After awhile, when we're stopping mid-sentence to yawn for the third time, we'll say goodnight, exchange a hug and a kiss, and go to bed.

Even though the ritual has evolved over the years it's still one of my favorite parts of any visit. And tonight when I was getting ready to go to sleep, even though I was very excited to sleep in my bed again for the first time in a week, I was a little disappointed there was no pre-bedtime chat with Grandma.