When I was a little girl, I had a special, safe place. I walked through the door…and it was paradise. The smells, the sounds, the warmth of the love. I lived in a wonderful home…but this place was different. More magical than home. There were tents to be made, pies to fill, and cookies to bake.
What a glorious place to be a child. They were my Grandparents…and more. Mim and Pap. My life. They survived the Great Depression, WWII, and my brother and me.
Pap taught me how to shoot craps and shoot a rifle. He taught me history and spelling, and math. He taught me what it meant to be a soldier in a great war, and that sometimes the war stays with you long after it has ended.
Mim taught me to read, to cook, to bake, and to sew. She taught me The Lord’s Prayer, and Amazing Grace. She sang about “that lonesome whipperwill” and “Ol’ Shep”. She taught me to enjoy nature, and explore it…that getting outside clears your head and your spirit. She taught me that even when you have difficult times…you keep moving.
Oh how I miss that special, safe place. The years have passed. They take their toll. Sometimes it seems like it was all a dream.
That’s the way life is, isn’t it? Things happen…they’re real. You hold on to them throughout the years. Little bits fall away…so you hold on tighter. Keeping them all gathered up in your arms.