I read this blog post today:
Jenny and Victor lost their dear Meemaw and Jenny wrote a beautiful post. Her story so reminded me of my own Grandma… She used to tell us stories all the time. Stories about growing up as the daughter of the town sheriff… One year for her birthday she didn’t have enough friends to play a game of softball so her dad let out some of the guys in jail to play ball with her and her friends. Or another time when her mom was out of town and she was the one responsible for cooking the meals for the prisoners… they asked when her mom was coming back! Lol! Or another time when she was watching her younger brother, Cliff, while her parents were out on a date. They came home after everyone was in bed and they couldn’t find Cliff. They finally found him in the “drunk tank” curled up with the town drunk. Yes, she grew up in a very small midwestern town.
My favorite story involved my brother and a snake. I always used to ask her to tell me the story of Johnny and the Snake. Sadly, I don’t remember much of the story any more. Just that my brother got bit by a snake that my grandma wasn’t familiar with so she walked down the road with him asking random people (?) if the snake was poisonous.
Towards the end of my Grandma’s life she lived in a care home. On one of my last visits with her she laid down on the couch (or davenport as she would say) and put her head in my lap. I gently rubbed her face and closed eyes in a manner that the two of us called The Sandman. She used to do that to me to put me to sleep and now it was my turn to love on her. As I rubbed her face I asked her to please tell me the story of Johnny and the Snake. She replied to me, “Oh, I think you remember it better than I do… you tell it to me.”
I have so many wonderful memories with my grandma but I think that one is my favorite.