It sounds childish and almost cliché to say that my favorite place is my Grandma’s house; it’s true though, my favorite place really is my Grandma’s. Her home lies just below a monstrous hill in a 1960’s style neighborhood right in the heart of Rochester, Minnesota. I have always thought of myself as having a somewhat old fashioned personality, and her home fits perfectly with that word. The tiny cottage like house has certain vibes to it. You know you’re there even if you have your eyes closed.

The comfort I feel once I am there is unbeatable. Every time I go I know I will have an extraordinary time. This woman treats my brother and I like kings. She fills us up like we are turkeys getting ready to be eaten on Thanksgiving. I love that about my Grandma. One of the abundant ways she shows affection is through cooking. It’s funny really; she’ll ask “want more potatoes?” And we’ll respond “no thanks” yet she’ll thump a mountain of them on your plate anyway like the lunch ladies from cartoons.

It’s an extremely tiny home, only two compact floors. That’s what makes it special for me though, it’s nothing like the suburban cookie-cutters at all. Her house is one of a kind, that’s for sure. It has very rustic feel to it. A little bit north-woodsy and sincere. Right when you walk in the door you see the ongoing fireplace, that’s very welcoming. She has an overflowing amount of Scandinavian knick-knacks in her house. From wooden clogs to mini Dala horses. You name it; she’s got it, trust me.

A feature of her home that sticks out for me though as a symbol of what the house represents is her classic coo-coo clock. At the top and bottom of every hour the faithful bird pops his head out and chirps his jingle to tell the world what hour it is. Though the bird only comes out every hour, the ticking of the clock is endless. To me, that never ending ticking is much like my Grandmas love for me. She will love me no matter what and I feel the same about her. It is truly a sanctuary of love.