I've been thinking how fast time seems to go. I have so many memories I'd like to share of my childhood with my own children. I know it sounds Cliché, but things are not the same as when I was growing up. I really wish my children could experience some of the things that I did growing up. I know that's not entirely possible, but I can pass down stories.
I was thinking today about my Mom's mother, Grandma Bessie. Bessie May was a fun feisty lady.
I loved going to see her. We called her Grandma with the chickens because she had chickens, and our other Grandma did not. I have so many wondeful memories of her, and her home. Today though I'm thinking of one specific memory.
When we would visit, we would always stay overnight, because it was about three hour drive to her house. At the end of the day my sister and I got to sleep in a cozy little bedroom. I can almost hear the sound of the floors creaking. My favorite part of the room was the bed. It was a big red spindle bed. It had a fluffy soft feather mattress. My mom actually slept in it when she was a young adult. It had old quilts and pillows piled high, and I couldn't wait until it was time to climb in.
My Grandma would sit in there and talk with us. While she was talking she'd clean the toe jam out from between out toes. I know it might sound yucky to some, but it's one of those special memories I have of her. She loved us, and enjoyed taking care of us.
My kids never got to meet her. She died when I was pregnant with Trevor. I never really knew how much I missed her until recently. I miss her, and her feisty ways. I miss being able to spend time with her. She was a great lady. All I can do is pass these special stories onto my kids in hope they will understand just how special she was to me.
