Grammie and Grandpa Great's House

Today I drove with the kids to Salt Lake for a visit. We left later than planned (story of my life) and had things pretty planned out for a fun evening with my family. But sometimes Heavenly Father gives you opportunities - unplanned opportunities - to experience His gifts and tender mercies. Since I didn't have Paul in the car with me I decided to listen to a book on tape about Africa to keep me awake and interested. What started out as a drive to Salt Lake, turned into an amazing trip to a place I once called home - Africa. The voices and accents and descriptions of the sights and sounds and smells of Africa were so spot on I couldn't help but be transported to a time of my life that now seems like a dream. What once were the dry, sage covered plains of eastern Utah turned into the long stretches of bush land in Zimbabwe. The sweet voices of my children fell asleep and were replaced by the sweet voices of the African people. I drove past Strawberry Reservoir and the fall leaves were SPECTACULAR! Bright yellows and reds set the hills on fire as I ascended into the Uintas. The vivid colors reminded me of one of my favorite parts of Bulawayo - one of the things I miss the most. The Jacaranda Trees. Jacaranda trees put on the most stunning purple blooms around September and October. It's as if Mother Nature ran out of green paint, and decided to use purple instead. And as these blooms fall to the ground they create pools of color around the base of the trees. There is nothing in the world so beautiful.

As we drove through Park City and continued to admire the trees in all their fall splendor I was taken back to another time in my life. A time that will always be a place of comfort and joy that I can visit in my heart. My grandparents (Grammie and Grandpa Bennett) lived in Emigration Canyon until just a couple of years ago. I have such fond memories of sleepovers, summer barbecues, and fishing in the stream behind their house with cheese tied to string on a stick. I remember winters of sledding, and hot chocolate with marshmallows, and homemade popcorn in the big green bowl. I remember building fires in the fireplace and blowing them with an accordion-like fire blower. I remember playing cards with Grammie and reading comics with Grandpa and building cities with old block and marbles on their wood floor. I remember the purple room we always slept in (PURPLE SHAG CARPET the color of the Jacaranda tree!) painting hand prints in the upstairs bathroom in fluorescent paint then brushing our teeth with the black light on to watch our art light up the walls. I remember sleeping in the softest beds with the softest blankets and pillows and listening to the creek in the back yard sing me to sleep. I have so many memories in that home and suddenly I remembered it was for sale. There was no one living in it and so I took a detour off the exit in the mouth of Parley's canyon (even though I was already running late - sorry Mom) and went to the old house. The drive to the house reminded me of all the drives up for Sunday dinner and family gathering. Passing the golf course and the zoo, then turning down the lane that you miss if you blink - it's hidden so only special people can find it. I held my breath as I pulled into the driveway. It was the same. It had been painted and new stone siding replaced the old cinder block, but the feeling was the same. I jumped out of the car and ran to the back yard. There it was. The patio and deck. The creek. The red and yellow and orange leaves carpeting the ground. I took a deep breath. It smelled the same - like cedar and fall and home and love. I grabbed the kids and the camera and introduced them for the first and last time to Grammie and Grandpa's house.

They probably won't remember this experience. But I will. They don't have these memories written in their hearts - but I do. And part of me longed for these days and the way I always felt safe and important and loved by my grandparents. And I still do. That's when I remembered it's not about places, it's about people, and as long as I have these people - my family - in my life I will always have these feelings and memories. As I felt myself mourning that my kids would never experience what I had growing up, I realized that the circle of life will always continue. This chapter of my life has come to a close but my kids will experience the same feelings of safety and importance and love as they open this same chapter in their OWN lives. Their chapters may look more like this:

but they will still feel the same, because they are all chapters - pieces of life - that a loving Father in Heaven would have for ALL his children.

We arrived at my parent's house (Ammy and Papa) and finished the night with my family writing a wonderful memory in the early chapters of my babies lives. So here's to good books, long drives, and memories and family and love.

Here's to life.