I was thinking about my grandmother's house tonight and how her family would gather on the porch. She had never seen a microwave or a computer and she didn't own a single Tiki torch. There was no such thing as an I-Pod, we sang together instead. My grandfather made an appearance in his long-johns when it was time for bed.
My grandmother spread the old kitchen table with fresh garden vegetables, gravy, biscuits, and beans. The aroma of blackberry cobbler filled the air and grandchildren seldom caused unpleasant scenes. Aunts and uncles talked about the past and never let anger stand in the way. Whatever happened yesterday was gone, they started with a fresh attitude each day.
It was just a little four-room house with a garden out in back. Everything was crooked but it didn't matter to Grandma Mac. She loved to hold a new born baby, loved to sit in her porch swing. She talked to us about life and love and never seemed rattled by anything.
My grandpa got up to dance a jig just before he became bedfast. Summers once seemed endless but they're not meant to last. I can still taste the cobbler and ice cream I ate until I had my fill. I feel blessed to have these memories when so many never will.
© Dianna Doles-Petry