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Narrative -- I Located Timelessness in Grandma's House It was eventually autumn break. I was seeing my grandmother for a few days. Well past dinnertime, I pulled up to the snowy stately home in northern rural Iowa. I parked my car, unloaded my bag and pillow, and crunched through the leaves into the front porch. The porch was just how I had seen it last; to the best, a little iron table and chairs, together with an aged antique brass pole lamp, and on the rearside, a flowered glider I have spent a summer afternoon , swaying back and forth, just believing. I slowly opened the front door - the same old creak echoed its way through the old home, announcing my birth just seconds earlier I called out, "Grandma!" She seemed round the corner with the normal spring in her steps. Her small but round 5'1" frame scurried up to greet me with a big hug and an exclamation of, "Oh, how great to see you" It was her eighty-fifth birthday now, an incredible feat to me, only part of normal life to her. The familiar mixture of Estee Lauder and older lotion wafted in my direction as she pulled away to "respect how much I have grown." I stopped growing eight decades ago, but really, it wasn't worth pointing out this fact. The house, too, smelled the same as it's ever smelled, I imagine, even if my father and his brothers grew up here over twenty years back - musty smoke and citrus pie blended with the odor of chocolate chip cookies. The former was my cousin's contribution, whose habit took him from us almost five decades back; the latter, obviously, comes in the delectable delights from my grandma's kitchen. Everything was exactly as it should be. Nothing ever seems to change when I am in my grandmother's house... It appears to be the o.. .