This is my Grandma's House. She lived there until she could not continue to live on her own. My grandfather built it. He was a plumber in Seymour, Indiana and this house is on O'Brien Street. It was built in the mid 50's and it was sold on my grandmother's death in the late 90's. And yes, it is pink. Very pink. The photo does not do it justice. Just as a side note, she also had a pink '57 chevy. But, back to the house. She wanted the house to be yellow. That was when grandpa put his foot down. He was not going to live in a yellow house. He hated yellow. She could pick any color but yellow. So, here is the pink house. I've often wondered if he was sorry he let her pick 'any color but yellow'. If so, he never said a word.
I can look at this photo and feel a sense of comfort immediately come over me. I loved them so much and miss her till it hurts at least once a week. As a child I climbed the apple tree in the back yard, ate grapes and plums from the trees and vines till I was sick, and played on the 'monkey swing' that hung from the giant willow tree who's fronds covered and cooled us all summer long. Grandma loved growing things. The yard always smelled like heaven in the summertime.
The house still stands, but it doesn't look the same. I think I am glad. I don't recognize it as I pass. The memories stay sweeter and true.