Memories: Magpie Tales #16

A Magpie Tales post.

The old oak boards, scarred and dusty, are now silent of footsteps.  Many generations had come and gone, walking or dancing, working or playing their way across these planks.  As I stand here staring at the floor, memories of a time nearly forgotten flood my mind.  I remember my grandmother, her work done for the evening, taking off her apron and hanging it neatly on a wooden peg next to the sink.  By the soft light of the lamp, she sat writing in her journal as she did every evening, recounting her day, sharing her thoughts on life, her children, her grandchildren.  

My grandfather had passed away some years before.  All the children had all married and moved away, and she lived alone in the house they had shared for so many years.  We would come to visit during the summers, and the house was alive again.  It was great fun to visit Grammy.  My cousins and I running in and out, banging the old screen door until it was nearly falling off its hinges.  We would drag our toys across the wooden floor leaving marks and scuffs, each adding to the scrapbook of life written upon the boards.

Grammy has been gone for many years, and the house now stands empty.  The boards upon which we played are dusty from disuse.  The only things left are Grammy's apron on the peg, and her shoes by the door.