As I sit at my desk, looking at my vision board, my gaze is set on two photos of the front of my grandparents’ house. I keep it there to bring back memories and to provide inspiration. The olive tree looms large in the front yard, the rose garden, set next to the driveway, is filled with beautiful roses in shades of pink, red and coral. The enormous orange tree stands tall and proud at the corner of the yard. It was one of the largest trees on the street. I don’t know if it was already present when they moved in in 1955 or if they planted it, I just know that it was taller than the roof of the house! That orange tree provided us a constant supply of fresh orange juice. I know that the trees’ flowers attracted bees but I do not recall them ever stinging me or bothering me, even when I played near the tree. In fact, most of the plants and trees in our yard attracted bees. Our plants, trees and grass were always lush and beautiful. Grandma and grandpa made sure of that. They spent countless hours doing yardwork. Many Saturday mornings were spent pulling weeds and tending to the vegetable garden in the back yard, behind the garage. Grandpa grew the best tasting beefsteak tomatoes! Grandma loved her spinach and strawberries. I remember her being proud of the fact that she never had to purchase either from the store. I remember having zucchini, pumpkins, and green beans also. Grandma had a love of flowers and they were in many locations in both the front yard and back yard. I think my favorites were the camelias that were planted in front of the large living room window. The bushes were tall enough to touch the roof of the house, and there were so many flowers. Sometimes, she would pick a few and float them in a glass bowl on the dining room table. She would also pick a few roses and put them in a small vase and set them on our breakfast table in the kitchen. I remember her saying that she wanted to be surrounded by fresh flowers while she was alive and not to waste money of bouquets and wreaths after she passed away someday. Such a sensible thing to say, don’t you think?

I went barefoot a lot in that wonderful yard. My feet must have been constantly dirty. The feel of the cool blades of grass, the brick walkway that led from the driveway to the front door, the indoor/outdoor carpet that was on the landing right in front of the door is a vivid memory for me. Grandma and grandpa had a gold screen door with designs of two peacocks on the lower half. I loved that screen door. I do not remember ever seeing another one like it. On the right side of the house, grandpa built a small brick pathway with a herringbone pattern, he added a brick wall and a wooden gate that was rounded at the top and had a black metal handle and latch. The gate led to the pathway to the backyard. We had to rake leaves in that area in the fall. There was a stout, healthy tree located on the property line. It shed many leaves and raking was not my favorite job. Until, that is, that grandpa bought me a kid-sized rake and boy, did I ever love to rake after that. I’d make big piles and grandpa would come behind me with a dented, old metal garbage can and put the piles inside. I can see beads of sweat on his forehead, his work clothes, dirty from working hard. He would wear old white undershirts for yardwork. And he always wore jeans and tennis shoes. Grandma liked to wear her sun hat out in the yard, she said it protected her from getting a sunburn in the bright Southern California sunshine. She always wore her gardening gloves; her nails were naturally long and beautiful so she liked to keep them protected. She had the most beautiful hands; I remember wishing that my hands looked like hers. Grandma also wore work clothes when out in the yard. Looking back, I think that their yard clothes were old camping clothes that were worn out enough to be relegated to clothes to be worn only for the messy work in the yard.

I spent an exorbitant amount of time out in that yard, the front, and the back. I loved climbing the olive tree. I had no fear as I climbed to the highest branches and played. I had a vivid imagination, I’d picture myself in the jungle with friends that were monkeys that preferred to climb olive trees over all the other trees. I’d imagine being a circus performer on my homemade swing in the backyard, and I would take my upside down frisbee and arrange leaves, pods, flowers and grass on it, as if it were a tray that a waitress would carry. Playing restaurant was fun, even if I was the only one participating. I’d put my roller skates on and go around and around our travel trailer that was always parked in front of the garage door. I would skate to the end of the driveway and back to the garage door, racing invisible competitors. Of course, I always won. I must have been a sight, covered in dirt, mussed up hair, barefoot. What a fabulous childhood I had! I remember playing outside like it was yesterday but I don’t remember taking a shower or bath afterwards. I know for a fact, I did because grandma would not have me walking about looking like a bum or hobo. I had to look presentable. It’s funny, the things that you remember and the things that just escape your memory. I remember taking bubble baths with AVON Bubble Bath when I went to visit my other grandparents, grandma Ann and grandpa Bing. She sold AVON and always had wonderful products that smelled incredible. I do remember grandpa Zim and I using the hose in the backyard to wash our hands and on hot days, we’d wash our faces too. I can still see him splashing water over his face, and using his hands to slick back his white hair, he’d then pull out a small cream colored comb from his pocket and use it to get his hair back into place. Sometimes, he wore an old fishing hat if the sun was beating down. He looked so nice in hats, even a fishing hat! I loved that grandpa could get dirty and look handsome and rugged, then clean up and wear a suit on Sundays. He always looked nice for work as well, he was a draftsman at the O.K. Earl Corporation in South Pasadena. He was the only professional person I knew that had rugged “man hands” as grandma would say. She loved his hands. She used to tell me to find a rugged man, not a man with office hands. She didn’t care for men with soft and supple hands. Grandma sure was opinionated. I miss hearing her words of wisdom and her stories. Growing up, grandma and grandpa were my favorite people. They were the ones I bonded with. I loved them, I loved our house, and I loved our yard.