Last week I spent the day with a remarkable woman on a horse farm in the Kentucky Bluegrass. She reminded me so much of my Granny – beautiful, hard-working, artistic, a wordsmith, and with a deep love for horses and animals. On a separate note, special thanks to Dr. Sandra Glahn for assigning this writing, Recounting a Memory. I got choked up trying to read it aloud. The treasure of a loving grandparent – who also happens to be such a remarkable woman – is the gift that keeps on giving.
“Well, come on in! You must be Gladys’ granddaughter.”
The friendly greeting both surprised and comforted my junior-high self. I entered the home and mingled with the lively artists gathered for a painting session. Granny held court among the throng of women, rich in laughter and stories, classy in her heels and fingers laden with large turquoise rings, even in the middle of a tiny South Texas town.
Two glorious weeks unfolded for us that summer, morning and evening walks on the gravel drive to the Lone Oak and back bookended our days. The cool breeze greeted our faces each morning, and the warm wind settled on our backs as the sun set over the western pasture.
But each evening as the sun fully retired, Granny and I came alive. She read poetry, both original and borrowed, in animated voices. I mustered efforts to match. And even coming up short, Granny responded to my blotched rhymes as if entertaining Emily Dickinson.
Twice a day we ate beans and flour tortillas.
We swam, we pulled weeds, we laughed.
We painted, we rode horses, we laughed.
We dressed up in dusty ball gowns, we painted our faces thick with makeup, and we laughed.
During that South Texas summer of my adolescence, I basked in Granny’s undivided, lavish attention. I miss her words and I miss her laugh. I see her wide brown eyes in my own.
“You must be Gladys’ granddaughter.”