Mirror on Its Side
As I approach the room in the small Midwestern home of my grandparents, the
atmosphere of my childhood brings me into focus. Stepping through the door way of what was once my adolescent bedroom, a sense of peace, long forgotten, takes hold of my spirit. Some things haven’t changed a bit.
The same soft grey carpet beneath my feet, reminding me of the feeling I left behind. But there is a difference. No longer is this a bedroom for one, but my grandmother has breathed a new sort of life into it. She has created a family den that sings to anyone lucky enough to have the opportunity to enter it. She has matched her articles perfectly, arranging them just so that a feeling of calm collection permeates the mind.
The provincial white sofa with the intricate blue floral pattern which once left me grinning at my grandmother’s audacity for actually bringing it home, has finally found its rightful home. An assortment of dolls, toys, photographs, and childrens literature, a desk, a trunk and a lamp all come together leaving a quiet space that asks you to relax, read, meditate, listen to music, or just nap.
The ceiling fan slowly twirls above my head as the light fixture gives a soft light to the white and gray motif.
White lace curtains soften the glow of the light offering the room even more grace. A large wooden desk laid out with her old lamp and stationary invites you and promises to be a place where many letters and cards are to be addressed to loved ones. Above the sofa stretches a full length mirror hung in a white frame, hung on its side. Photographs of my Grandmother and Grandfather smile boldly from the wall that once housed my swimming medals. Prominently above the couch, hung a full length mirror, proudly resting on its side.