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When I was a small child, my maternal grandparents (both now gone - each lived into their nineties, but they are at rest) lived in a charming little house on Cape Cod. The "Orleans" house. The one on Harbor Hill. It was a charming little Cape - I remember they had red walls in the living room.
This past weekend my mom and I were going through family letters and photos (her cousin is looking for photos and now I have a few to scan and send to her). Mom made a comment about the space my grandmother made for me. My brother got the bedroom, and I got the bed shoved in an upstairs alcove dormer area. The hallway between the two bedrooms.
It has *never* occurred to me that that was a weird set up. That me sleeping on a cot in what amounts to a hallway was in any way strange. My mom's perspective was that I was (possibly purposefully) shafted because my grandmother did not want to put me in an actual room (and as I recall they did have another room - a little sewing room the cot could have just as easily been put in there).
At the time I thought it was kind of cool - my grandmother had set up a cozy little corner with a table and lamp and she always left a book for me to read. Although looking back it was kind of odd that people were always traipsing through my "room" because it was in all actuality a hallway.
Then came the two years my grandparents refused to talk to my mother - or any of the rest of us (family Drama with a capital D) and after that time my brother and I never stayed overnight with them anymore.
Then my grandparents started to move around the cape - every couple of years they bought a new house. Until my grandfather sold his last house to my dad.
This past weekend my mom and I were going through family letters and photos (her cousin is looking for photos and now I have a few to scan and send to her). Mom made a comment about the space my grandmother made for me. My brother got the bedroom, and I got the bed shoved in an upstairs alcove dormer area. The hallway between the two bedrooms.
It has *never* occurred to me that that was a weird set up. That me sleeping on a cot in what amounts to a hallway was in any way strange. My mom's perspective was that I was (possibly purposefully) shafted because my grandmother did not want to put me in an actual room (and as I recall they did have another room - a little sewing room the cot could have just as easily been put in there).
At the time I thought it was kind of cool - my grandmother had set up a cozy little corner with a table and lamp and she always left a book for me to read. Although looking back it was kind of odd that people were always traipsing through my "room" because it was in all actuality a hallway.
Then came the two years my grandparents refused to talk to my mother - or any of the rest of us (family Drama with a capital D) and after that time my brother and I never stayed overnight with them anymore.
Then my grandparents started to move around the cape - every couple of years they bought a new house. Until my grandfather sold his last house to my dad.