For as long as I can remember my grandmother slept in the downstairs living room of their tri-level home. That part of the house was originally constructed to serve as an apartment. Along one wall was a stove, a sink and cupboards, a small bedroom was accessed through the sitting room. Upstairs was the family room. This was for company, the couch where I spent my teenage weekends had been purchased the year they moved in. My mother was 6.
For 30 years the two spent their evenings downstairs. While the family room saw birthday decorations and seasonal changes, not a thing deviated below. Even when the television developed a thin white line in the middle of the screen my grandmother refused to replace it. In her opinion, it still worked just fine.
While she fought change, my grandpa delighted in it. By the time he retired the world had smartcars, smartphones and smartwater. Continue reading