The house I will forever have embedded in my mind was located in the rural town of Bovina, Texas. This was the house my father and his twelve brothers and sisters grew up in. Every time we went there, I remember driving up and the first thing I saw was a medium sized dead tree with a rickety tire swing hanging from one of the larger tree limbs. The front yard had splotches of somewhat green grass here and there. The walkway to the front porch was kind of old and some of the cement bricks were broken. As you neared the house you got a better look at the house. The right side of the house, right under all the window sills, there were dying flowers. My grandma loved to tend to her garden but since she was getting up in the years, it became harder and harder for her to do so. The paint on the house was old and weathered and some of the bricks were broken and missing which brought out the real age of the house. There was a weird sound that you heard as you entered the doorway that sounded a little like a car that was about to stall out. I later learned that that was the old leaky swamp cooler on top of the house.
When you got into the house, the smell of Mexican food and cleaning products attacked your nostrils. The living room walls were made of this fake wood-looking stuff. It looked like a typical living room. It had two couches, a chair and a table in the middle of the room. The couches were a dark maroon color and the center table was glass with metal legs that were painted gold. The carpet was brown and the mixture of the walls, the furniture, and the carpet made the room pretty dark and a little chilly.