Grampa's Domain

I step off the elevator
Then turn the corner
And this smell hits me
It's like greased machinery
Or some kind of lubricating spray
But it reminds me of my grandfather's basement
Where he had his workshop
I take another whiff
And I'm transported there in an instant
Back to their house on Wellington Street
In Sault Saint Marie, Ontario, Canada

I enter through the side door
There's a small landing
To the left and up three steps leads
Into the kitchen and first floor of the house
But I go to the right and down the stairs
Into the basement
Into my grandfather's domain
All kinds of tools hang on the walls
There are table saws and other
Wood-working equipment

My grampa could make anything
He didn't even need blueprints
All he needed was a photo
And he could build it from that
Like chairs or kitchen cabinets
Plant stands or piggy banks

When I was little, he made me a doll cradle
Then many years later, in honor of the birth
Of my parents' first grandchild
Grampa and my dad built a baby cradle

I always loved going down to the basement
And sitting in Grampa's glider and rocking
That chair was so smooth
And plus in the summertime
It was nice and cool down there

As I walk on outside
Of the building where I work
My eyes swell with tears
My grandfather and the house are both gone now
And I'll never see either one of them again

I never thought I'd ever miss
That smelly old basement
But I honestly do
Though not as much as
I miss my grampa

6.22.06