Homely: being something familiar with which a person is comfortable and at ease. Comfortable is how I truly felt, I savored the last few bites of pie and slumping back in a recliner with my Nana and Lorraine that was the most incomparable moment in my young life. I felt more at home with those two wonderful women then I did with anyone or at any place. The day began with waking up before the sun and riding in the big black Pontiac that smelled like an old lady and cigarettes. The smell was soothing to me, reminding me of my fondest summer memories spent at my grandparents playing, baking, and technology free. For ten year old Morgan the car ride was filled with the endless questions, “Are we there yet?” or “How much longer?”, Nana would always patiently answer and I would impatiently sit. With my Nana you were always guaranteed a marvelous conversation about rocks or animals and never was there, a fact that did not blow my young mind.
The road to my Nana’s beloved friend Lorraine’s was a bumpy and beaten old gravel road with nothing but a few trees and farm fields with the occasional critter moving. When on road trips like this I was always the first to spot wildlife running about and identifying the creature with ease. Eventually, after the miles of gut wrenching twists and turns, we began the journey through the enormous Russian olive grove. I enjoyed this part the most, the darkness was unreal, I never took my eyes off the mysterious figures my imagination created.
The road to my Nana’s beloved friend Lorraine’s was a bumpy and beaten old gravel road with nothing but a few trees and farm fields with the occasional critter moving. When on road trips like this I was always the first to spot wildlife running about and identifying the creature with ease. Eventually, after the miles of gut wrenching twists and turns, we began the journey through the enormous Russian olive grove. I enjoyed this part the most, the darkness was unreal, I never took my eyes off the mysterious figures my imagination created.