So much living took place in that old house. The boarded-up front door had been an entryway to paradise for me. Here had been love…along with pickled peaches, fried chicken and “parasols,” as my Granddaddy called them. Pallets under big tent revivals nurtured my soul as I drifted off to sleep amidst those grand old church hymns.

            The next day the neighboring kids and my cousins met at Granny’s. I tried to be “The Brats’ Boss,” but I had a bigger cousin who packed a harder punch.

            “I get to be the preacher this time,” my robust cousin shouted. “NO!” I protested. “It’s my time.”

            “Just cross this line.”

            “Okay!”

            I picked myself up, saying, “Then I’m going to be song leader.”

            “Who cares?” the gang retorted.

            “We’re singing, ‘When we all get to heaven what a surprise it will be.’”

            So I sang at the top of my voice while my chorus half-heartedly chimed in.

            It all stopped when we heard the big, black, puffing train engine coming. We hurried to wave at the engineer. We counted the cars and slugged it out if we disagreed.

I was the only female with 8 male cousins but I could hold my own most of the time.

            Hot and thirsty, we marched to Granddaddy’s filling station down the road and drank Strawberry Soda. We didn’t have to pay but others had to buy a pop with their dime. We tried to make that soda last as long as we could.

            Granny’s little town made my happy days of summer vanish as quickly as ice cream on a hot sultry day. Her black-eyed-peas and cornbread with fresh cow’s milk made my tummy happy and my cheeks rosy. I loved helping her make a “rainbow cake.” We put a different color in every layer.

            Granddaddy bought the prettiest “parasol” he could find at the little dry goods store. He let me take it to the only picture show in that little town. All the kids went to see Hopalong Cassidy on Saturday afternoon matinees.

            My favorite memory was hearing my granddaddy pray. He prayed on bended knees and poured out his heart to God.

            One day Granddaddy brought Granny some new dishes. The only dishes she had were those little pink bowls that came in oatmeal boxes. “Daddy,” Granny cried. “You are the best man in the whole world.” Tears ran down Granny’s face as she looked at her brand new set of dishes. They had little flowers with edges of gold around the rim.

            “We’ll cook Sunday dinner for the preacher now, “ Granny told me. I have Granny’s dishes and they are priceless to me, but Granny gave me more than dishes.

She gave me love, faith and courage. She taught me what is really important in life…

Being content with what you have with those you love is the only way to be happy.

            “Don’t go yet,” I pleaded with my husband. “Let me look just a little bit longer.”

I longed to go in that tumbled down house and become a child again. Surely there’s something still inside…maybe Granny’s calico apron, or even the aroma of gingerbread. The boarded-up windows and my husband’s urging brought me back to reality.

            A house of “Americana” with love in it…that’s what it had been for me…a precious memory that time never erases.

             Precious memories of my grandparents cause me to fly on wings of love and soar on clouds of delight!