A few years after my Grandpa passed away, there came the time for my Dad and his brother to sell his house. At the time, I felt like we were losing the place where all of those wonderful summery memories lived. The memory of summer holidays, where days stretched out like years and we would return from the beach sun-kissed, salty and exhausted. The house where Grandma would sit crossed legged on the floor and teach us how to play cards and Grandpa would take us out on the boat and show us how to bait a fishing hook. For me, all of those memories were bundled up in that house and it broke my heart that we would no longer be able to visit it. When we were cleaning out the house I held onto the sheets that had always made up the single beds in our old room – faded and threadbare – they symbolized something material from that house that I could hold on to. Recently I decided that instead of keeping them in a box stored under the house, I would somehow put them on display. So I cut a small piece from each, and glued them into three frames which I have hung in our bathroom. Every time I see them, the memories of that house and those long summery days come flooding back.