My grandma passed away during my great blog absence. Everybody thinks their grandma is the greatest, and I am a happy member of those ranks. Since then, my mom and some of her siblings have become the owners of the house and farm she lived on. Because the house was sitting empty, and because the job market for theologians is so darn fantastic (completely sarcastic), and because we really do love the Oregon coast (completely not sarcastic), it seemed providential that we bring our little family here. When we arrived, it was emotionally overwhelming. It was the same as I remembered. All the furniture and pictures are all the same. My cousins have wanted me to post pictures of what I've done with the place, but I've done virtually nothing. I thought about painting. There's wood paneling every where, and with the already gray coastal weather, it can make the inside pretty dark. But part of me doesn't want to change anything. It's sort of like living in a photograph of every childhood summer I've ever had. The setting is the same, but the people have changed. My mom is visiting, and last night she sat in my grandma's spot by the kitchen window while I cooked at the stove. We both realized we had seen the scene, only with different players. So Lisa and Erin, here are just a few pics. Like I said, I haven't done anything.