Grandma's House Beyond the hustle of the city streets with their flashing neon lights that seem to dance to a silent beat in this place that never sleeps, there is a door that leads into the past where there’s doilies everywhere you look; homemade bread for breakfast and tea is served in china cups. Beyond the clatter of the coffee shop where it’s hard to talk above the din, where people come and go but never stop and service is judged by speed, there is a place where fluffy pillows smell as fresh as country air and photographs aged with yellow seem to bring the past to life. Beyond the stress of meeting deadlines, over the buzz of fast machines, where the pace, at best, is flyin’ and there’s hardly time to sleep, there’s a smile that gently takes you back a step or three in time, to dance to an older tune in the calm of Grandma’s house. oct 2002