Last house on the left.
Let’s go back to the first photo. It was the front, than the back, than the Arizona/mud/sun room, than the kitchen which brings us into the living room. Only thing I can remember seeing that caught my eye was... a chair. A great focal point! I crouched down and snapped a few rounds. One has to wonder what grandma or grandpa or uncle or whoever told what stories sitting in this chair. Chairs like this always are for older folks. Maybe the grandparent would sit there and tell the grandkids about the depression or how the war affected the family. How great the little ones have it now compared to them. God only knows. I like to think grandma had her kids kids sitting next to her, reading stories, laughing at the crazy things they say. A good hardy laugh, one that is very guttural, it fills the house, it’s something that makes the ones on the kitchen smoking and drinking coffee smile and shake their head while knocking off the last bit of ash from their extra long cigarette. The bottom of their face being obstructed by the coffee cup. These are happy, you can tell they’re smiling by their eyes. Eyes that say, this was a good idea. Driving an hour on Sunday after church to see ‘ma’ so the grandchildren can have some sort of memory before she passes like dad did last year. She don’t have long, a broken heart will be what does it. They all know, she knows, but the memory of those little ones will be the last firing synopsis in her brain, right before she slips away like the kids do carefully off her favorite chair. That’s what I see when I look at this.