A Report from a Trip to Columbus, Ohio

Categories: Visit To Grandmother House

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As the winter ends and summer begins, I always feel like I want to travel. So last year I decided that I would visit my Grandmother in Columbus, Ohio. While driving, I wondered what it would be like to visit my Grandmother's home again. After all, I was a little girl when I had been there last. As I drove, my thoughts drifted back to my childhood. And I remembered how lovely it was visiting my grandmother's home.

One of my favorites was the warm appearance of my grandmother's block.

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It was very bright and cheerful, as if it had sprinkles of white dust all over it. The block had lush green trees that looked as though they stood at attention from the streams of light flowing from the sun. And the hot graveled streets had only a few cars. At night, when my parents and Grandparents talked in the living room, I would sit out on the front steps smelling the aroma of the deep green grass.

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And I'd stare up at the twinkling stfarawaymy of ars that seemed so close I felt like I could reach out and touch one.

It was always extremely quiet on my grandmother's block. When I'd lie in bed at night, I could hear the tiny crickets. They sounded as if they were singing or chanting in a language all their own. Also, I could hear mumbling of far away voices and I'd wonder what they were saying. As I'd lie there looking into the darkness, listening to the black wheels of the cars rumbling over streets, it sent chills up my spine.

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But I knew I was safe at grandmother's house.

What I cherished most of all was the delicate, uncomplicated setting. There were all kinds of porcelain pieces sitting on top the tall, brown mantel. Also, there were old-fashioned frames that held images of myself as a little girl. Then there was the old French phone that made me feel right at home. Another one of my favorites was the tall dark Grandfather clock that sat in the corner at the bottom of the staircase. I used to play with all of the tiny salt and pepper shakers that filled the china cabinet, when grandmother wasn't looking, of course.

Finally, I arrived. I parked the car in front of grandma's house. When I stepped out of the car and looked around, everything looked just as it used to be. Grandma tried to hurry down the steps to greet me. We went into the house and it was exactly as it had been. Even the feelings of my childhood were the same.

Observe, too, how effectively this next compelling description supports the assertion its student writer makes in the paragraph's topic sentence. What hurricane Andrew left behind was the devastation of a magnitude I'd never before witnessed. What had been my home, my neighborhood, had been erased, had ceased to exist.

Scattered across once-proud lawns were fragments of my home and the homes of my neighbors. A light summer dress, pale yellow, still clung to a thin metal clothes hanger as it rustled in the breeze upon a collapsed rooftop. Twisted around the base of one of the remaining palm trees was my daughter's treasured wooden dollhouse, the ts furnishings as rent and crushed as their adult counterparts. Several sections of the Anderson's newly painted stockade fence floated in the swimming pool surrounded by shards of aluminum siding and broken glass. I watched as my neighbors now stood motionless and silent, some huddled in embraces that spoke thanks for their survival and anguish born of complete material loss.