I have wandered her garden and home so many times in my mind. I walk through the cut hedge entrance, every year it needs a little trimming and reshaping to grant us access. Past the grape vine trellis I step up to her chippy blue porch. Blue is her favourite colour. I glance over at the clothespins and blue leather clogs that reside just outside her kitchen door. I enter. I see grandma in the kitchen and I give her a hug. She's busy stewing jam and occasionally she leaves her canning to bang on the window to yell at the squirrels. She'd rather they left her birdseed to the birds.

I slip off my shoes and walk into the dining room where the ceiling slants perfectly over the table with just enough room for us to slide in. We will pull the leaves out and make it bigger at Christmas. The tiny window with wooden shutters frames the bird feeder outside as if art was hung on the wall. Through her living room across the dark blue carpet I drag my feet hoping to generate static. When I see my cousin in the front room I hope to give her a little shock. She'll even the score next time. I admire the bookcase that runs the entire west wall that Uncle Bruce built. We don't see Uncle Bruce often. The shelves hold hundreds of books, all of them she has read. Books about war, politics, art, love, history, geography, cooking, crafting and just about any topic you can think of. Above the books on the wide ledge are her beloved house plants. None of them are suffering. I want to touch the ones with fuzzy leaves but grandma says they don't like that. I resist. Interesting knick knacks rest in the remaining cubbies of the shelves, every time I visit I take notice of something new even though it's been there all along. Curious things. Before I make it through the rest of her house I hear the kitchen timer buzzing. Time to turn up the kiln, back through the dining room and into the kitchen I scurry. I grab the key next to the little whistle. I can't help myself I put the whistle in my mouth and blow. The little ball rattles around, air squeezes out the end and makes the piping sound all working whistles make. I'm pleased with myself. My cousins do the same in and out of her house. She should find a less tempting spot for it.

I slide her clay and paint splattered clogs on; the soles covered in garden soil, I make my way to her shed. Her blue shed of course. I unlock the padlock, turn on the light and approach the kiln. It has been firing for several hours, now it's time to flip the last switch. I flip the last switch to match the direction of the others. That's it. She's warming up to temperature and next time I come over I'll get to see the pots that grandma made and maybe I will have a pot or two in there. Likely an ash tray with melted glass in the bottom. My papa Charlie will like that and I will see it every time I visit him. I wish he would quit smoking.

I take a quick glance at grandma's bike on the way out. Maybe I'll ride that to the corner store later. It's a bit tall for me but I can reach the pedals so I'll manage. Door shut. Lock is back on. Back up the steps of the blue porch I go. Clogs off and placed to the right of the door where I  found them. Back inside for tea and cookies. This time we both venture through the dining room past the bookcase, past her favourite reading chair down the hallway past the old marching band drum that matches her wallpaper border of marching soldiers. She was really proud of that border. It was $5 when she bought it and my grandfather was disappointed that she spent the money. But she earned that money and she made her own decisions. She always took care of everyone else before she took care of herself. She deserved that border and so much more.

The t.v is on and I am excited to see my cousins, we pile onto the couch and grandma sits in her recliner. Everyone is happy.