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</o:shapelayout></xml><![endif]--></head><body lang=EN-US link=blue vlink=purple><div class=WordSection1><p class=MsoNormal><span style='color:#1F497D'>kI’m forwarding Deanna’s submission that she sent weeks ago. Marcia<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='color:#1F497D'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div><div style='border:none;border-top:solid #E1E1E1 1.0pt;padding:3.0pt 0in 0in 0in'><p class=MsoNormal style='margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height:normal'><b>From:</b> WritersPartyline [mailto:writerspartyline-bounces@bluegrasspals.com] <b>On Behalf Of </b>Deanna Noriega<br><b>Sent:</b> Sunday, January 12, 2020 2:42 PM<br><b>To:</b> abbietaylor945@gmail.com<br><b>Cc:</b> writerspartyline@bluegrasspals.com<br><b>Subject:</b> [WritersPartyline] DeAnna's Submission for 1-19-2020<o:p></o:p></p></div></div><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center'>Hi Abbie, I somehow failed to save this piece after sending it to you, so since I had to recreate it to post to the list, I changed it a bit. It is now 300 words.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center'><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center'>Grandpa’s House<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center'>By DeAnna Quietwater Noriega<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center'><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>The Texas sunset paints the west with reds and orange. Five-year old feet in Patton-leather shoes tap up the steps to the porch. The screen door squeaks and they tread the linoleum of the hall. To the left is the big room with the fireplace. Grandma and grandpa’s room is through there and connects to the dining room beyond. To the right of the hall, is the locked door to daddy’s brother’s room. He drowned long ago. Next to the forbidden room is the room where Pedro, Grandpa’s ranch hand lives. The strains of his harmonica float out of there. Straight ahead, the bare boards of the screened porch begin. This is where Grandma’s ringer washing machine and the basin for washing hands wait. The dining room is the first on the left with the door to the kitchen next and at the end of the porch is the door to the room with the toilet. Ducks are gathering out the side door demanding corn. They come up from the lake which is where the water is piped for the hand basin, washer and toilet. It also is pumped to fill the stock tank in the front yard. On hot days, it is fun to splash and play in that concrete tank as if it is a swimming pool. Lace-trimmed socks are tucked into Sunday shoes, before they are dropped in the corner of the Living room. Small Apache feet glory in the freedom and are ready to scamper out to answer the call of the ducks, or to see if grandma needs them to run fetch a bucket of water from the rain barrel. The smell of tortillas toasting on the griddle and the slap thump of them being flipped and rolled flat, drift from the kitchen. <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><a href="mailto:dqnoriega@gmail.com">dqnoriega@gmail.com</a> <o:p></o:p></p></div></body></html>