My mom’s parents lived in Sikeston, Missouri. It was a little town located in far SE Missouri- down in the little crooked piece at the bottom of the state. My grandmother’s name was Essie. Apparently I couldn’t pronounce that early on, so I called her “Shess.” My grandfather’s name was William. However, I never heard him called anything but “Pap.” (These days when I hear his name I’m always reminded of the gyno.) We moved to Texas when I was 5. After that, every visit was special since they were so infrequent.

One of my fondest memories was making Chef Boyardee pizza with her. I know Yankees wouldn’t have considered it real pizza. (However it was all I knew at that time.) The box included the  yeast you mixed with the warm water then added the flour. Then the hard part, the wait. It seemed to take forever to rise. Finally I could pat it into the pan, spread the canned sauce, sprinkle with the enclosed cheese and bake. No other toppings required. (A gourmet delight I’m sure.) But back in the day I thought it was terrific. When it was done Shess used her “gold” dishes for our pizza and Cokes. I thought they were real gold. When I was older I discovered they were just anodized aluminum with a gold finish. However, I still thought they were cool.

If it had been a really hot day we sat on the porch swing in the evening til the house cooled off. Sometimes, my dad would make ice cream. Remember the old wooden ice cream makers with the hand cranks? The kids would catch lightning bugs and put them in a Mason jar with holes in the lid. When’s the last time you saw a lightning bug? Where’d they all go? (I just realized that was a Waltonesqe moment.)

My mom recently told me that her mom, Shess, had a bad temper. She swears that Shess killed their crabapple tree by taking off so many “switches” from it to switch my mom and her siblings. (I never ever heard my grandmother even raise her voice.) I thought she was perfect and she thought I was an angel. Just as it should be.

It’s amazing the details I can still remember so clearly from so very long ago. Especially since my short-term memory is so iffy these days. I guess that’s why so many older people find it easier to live in the past. It’s what they can remember the best. I still don’t know why it’s that way though.

Since I didn’t marry Doug and have kids until I was 31, I’m now 57 and still grandchild-less. One of my friends just became a great grandmother at 58. I’m not pushing our kids though. I know I’ll get them eventually. I just hope I’m still me by the time the grandkids arrive.