Grandmama's Mansion

Grandmama's Diary: Third Entry

Dear Journal,

As my eyes fluttered open, I was overwhelmed with a bitter cold that had invaded my quilt. I clung to its' somewhat scratchy but soft fabric, desperately hoping to be protected from the cold. It felt as if the cold was echoing through my bones, causing a continuous shiver throughout my body. My bones felt like they had begun decaying, like a thin branch of a tree in a harrowing winter storm.

Peaking my eyes over the edge of the quilt, I quickly noticed that my old window was not only unlocked, but broken and had fallen to my floor, a result of the obviously strong wind striking against my rooms weak defenses, and winning. Every fragile, valuable thing that had previously resided on my dresser (my flower pot, my glass jewelry box, although it was empty, ect.) was shattered and spread over all my room due to the wind which had blown into my room.

What was I to do? Get out from my weak, but only barrier from the cold or brace it and head to the warmest pace in the house, the kitchen? I could try to call out for my mother or father to try and get my window fixed, but that would take too long. Or I could just wait until it was not as cold, but I did not know how long that would take.

After contemplating my options for a brief few moments, I reached my pale, bony arm, which was enveloped in goosebumps, down the side of the bed, wrapped my quivering fingers around my slippers, and pulled them back under my quilt.

Squirming to put them on my feet while remaining underneath the covers, I said goodbye to the slight worth and placed one foot on the floor, the other one following. The brief lower part of my leg which was exposed to the air was instantly freezing, only causing me to jump out from under my warmth and sprint out of my room, making sure not to step on any of the glass shards.

"Is that you, my sweet?" my mother's voice echoed through the hallway from the kitchen. I began walking towards her voice in the much warmer hallway.

"Yes, Mother. The window in my room broke," I turned the corner into the kitchen, "and it shattered all of my glass decorations. The window is on my floor and it is dreadfully cold in there." She looked at me with a questioning expression that showed slight sympathy.

"I'm sorry, my sweet. I'll have your father build you a new one," she stated simply.

"Really?! Oh, thank you, Mother!" I shouted with excitement.

"Of course, my sweet," she replied with a gay smile on her face. "Sit down at the table, breakfast is ready."

I inhaled to realize we were having Biscuits and Gravy for breakfast. Not one of my favorite meals, but good nonetheless. I walked over to the kitchen table and sat on the creaky wooden chair as my mother placed a plate in front of me with two big golden biscuits covered in thick, chunky gravy. It looked delicious.

After she handed me a fork and knife, I began to cut into the biscuit and, after dipping it in the excess gravy, eagerly sunk my teeth into its fluffy interior. Just as I had suspected, it was delicious. I wonder if Mother changed her recipe. Either that or I had just forgotten how good it was. Regardless, I wanted to forget my manners and eat it with my hands, seeing as I could get the food to my mouth much faster that way, but all the years of mannered eating made it nearly impossible.

After several minutes of eating, I finished and took my plate to the sink where I cleaned them and set them out to dry. Normally we'd all eat together but I was several days behind on chores so I had to quickly eat, get dressed, and start on my chores. The last two days were wonderful, but it was time to get back to my life, and my new chick! I had nearly forgotten about him.