The House on Clydesdale Lane :: English Literature Essays

The House on Clydesdale LaneThe bantam townhouse always had the inviting sugariness of freshly cut pinnacles in the morning and the delicious aroma of my mothers mysterious recipes in the early evening. Anyone who entered was immediately greeted by the fragrances and found themselves staying a microscopic longer than they planned. The delicate light from my grandmothers antique lamp beckoned sleep and the faded striped cushions on the worn living room couch held many a drowsy head in those days. The inside of the house consisted of rooms that were clear and barely separated so that you always knew what was going on in the next room. From the living room, you could see my mother giggling at one of my fathers corny jokes as they prepared supper together. In the living room, my older brother was most(prenominal) analogously teasing my sister and me and tickling us until we screamed. We contend games of go-fish and Chinese checkers as we waited for supper to be ready. We alwa ys ate dinner party together in the dining room that barely separated the kitchen from the living room. The dinner table was a small wooden square that had wobbly legs and shake when one of us laughed. Sometimes trivial arguments took place when my brother would sick mashed potatoes from his spoon at my sister or me. After dinner, my sister and I raced to see who could make it up the stairs first to put our pajamas on for bed. My dad read stories to us and often told us stories from when he was a boy. It was a warm house. It was warm even in the icy overwinter months when the heat was turned off at night to save money. My young sister and I snuggled together in the bed we overlap and employ our hairbrushes as microphones as we lip-synched the songs on our tiny radio. Sometimes during those nights we played Candyland when we were supposed to be asleepuntil we were caught. The outside of our house looked much like the rest of the houses in the neighborhood. The peeling green pain t flaked off into the small patch of dirt my mother used as a flower garden. The sidewalk was gray and covered with brown hopscotch patterns from the tree bark we used as chalk. The front door had an outside door that had a divide and tattered screen that hung down lifelessly.