One of the recurring dream locations since my teen years has been my grandma’s house. Situations differ, but the house is always the same. I loved my grandma’s house. Not for the structure or anything, but for the standard ‘those were the best times of my childhood” reasons.
I can close my eyes and remember the smallest details of her house. It smelled like Puffs and cedar. The high school was across the street. The town was so small you could walk everywhere. There was a small park and a strip mall with a coffee shop, a drug store and a grocery store. My grandma had friends all over town and we would go to their houses so she could show us off.
We rode bikes and played with Lincoln Logs. Her fridge was the only one I knew of that had the freezer on the bottom and the toilet had a button flush. They lived in the Iron Range and everything in their house was metal: the doors, the windowsills, the ‘woodwork’.
The details are so strong and my urge to go back is great so I dream about the house and the town all the time. When my grandfather died, my grandma sold everything and sold the house. So now the only way I can go back is if I buy the house. Buying the house, while a dream of mine, is too impractical to work. The area is depressed, there are no good jobs so I couldn’t live there. And while the area is depressed and the houses are cheap, it seems like an expensive summer home or vacation spot.
I am reluctant to drive by there again (we drove by a few years ago) as I think it would only serve to make me sadder. I did look it up on Terraserver and I wanted to cry. The town is so small, I could see all the details, the churches, the park, the neighbors.