Thought I would share with you all a paper my niece Kathleen wrote for her Honors English class that I thought was so sweet, I know I am a little biased since she is my niece! She wrote this after visiting us this summer…love the time we get with her!
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“Good morning Kathleen!” my aunt Dawn’s cheerful voice wakes me in the early summer mornings. At the same time as I struggle to lift my heavy eyelids, I hear the stubborn windows being opened. Daylight seeps in between pale yellow windowpanes and the simple room overflows with warm sunlight and fresh morning air. Sounds of cars swooshing by slightly amplify. The house with the white picket fence and the deep red door is the lovable home of my aunt and uncle.
A weighty denim-blue comforter and thin, white sheets to keep me warm in the room during the summer is necessary given that my aunt and uncle’s AC is continuously set to maintain a chilly temperature. I wrestle myself out of the chaos of blankets to assemble myself on the edge of the bed. My mismatched socks sweep the cool light-colored wood floors and I gawk at the white wall in front of me with my back to the sunbeams. Each step on the floors causes the wood paneling to creak and thump the ceiling of the room below. In the middle of the wooden and yellow staircase, a lethargic and plump cat lays observing me as I smirk and gradually move onwards.
The alluring aroma of pancakes and cinnamon infest the air downstairs. The black leather couch in the western-themed living room is satisfyingly comfortable although the cow-print pillows aren’t awfully smooth. A cowboy lamp sits to my right as I go through the numerous channels on Comcast cable. In a corner next to the television, a wooden wagon wheel sits where a Christmas tree would be if it was the Holiday season. Through the glass screen door with red panels, the serene pool temps me to go for a swim in the hot Sacramento summer weather.
The country-styled kitchen is perhaps my most favorable room in the house. Its charming farm knick-knacks and shining cooking utensils captivate me as I sit down at the dark wooden table. In the towering and steel refrigerator the food is mainly nourishing and nothing a teenager would choose for a meal. However, for the occasion of my visits, grocery trips are made to satisfy my adolescent diet.
My aunt’s messy room reflects how much alike her and I are. An eruption of clothes, miscellaneous items placed in the corner in a heap, and no lights but the illumination of the TV screen. A vast shelf stretching for a little less than half of a wall possesses a collection of DVD’s and board games in which range widely in variety. It’s evidently impossible to have nothing to do at my aunt and uncle’s home.
The hospitality felt and appreciated by me from my aunt and uncle is not left behind at their home. It’s carried with me even when I return to my house in Visalia. The cozy atmosphere of the house, however, is not experienced in any other home I am familiar with. The white picket fence, vibrant flowers and the compassionate people they characterize are all too distinctive to be simply replicated. It is as if it’s one of the few houses that are actually homes.