The memory house

This is a fond old memory-house. Here are the things I like:

The bell-shaped yellow flowers that line the front gate.
The fat lemons that hide in the trees down in the orchard, ripe and perfectly unreachable.
The pumpkin shells around the bathroom sink
The tapestry over the sofas, which has been around since my father was born.
The way that nothing ever changes in this house.
The smell of mangoes and sound of my brother laughing- both seem to hang around the kitchen.
The fact that there is always a dog around (minimum: 1, maximum: 5).
That Daphne, who cleans here, knew me before I could walk.
The view of Table Mountain from the balconies.
The way that this house is far from everything wrong and pervasive. That, even with the absence of my much adored grandpa, it's a happy house, cheerful and full of the people I love, with high ceilings housing stacked memories. It grew with me and my imagination, and even as the rooms got smaller as I got bigger, it never lost the magic.

Nearly 19 years of love.

That's a lot for paint and brick.