Rainy Day Remembering.....

"Memory is a way of holding onto the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose."

~From the television show The Wonder Years~

Today is one of those perfectly delightful gloomy rainy days where the square on the calendar is blank and the possibilities of how to spend the day are endless. Stepping out the front door there is a distinct chill in the air, a welcome relief from the usual stifling humidity at this time of year. Our resident woodpecker lets out a long loud laugh, it must be my morning hair. The air smells fresh and clean. The roosters are crowing and I suddenly miss my grandmother.Many such mornings were spent on her porch. Me with my morning hair and her with a steaming cup of coffee. I would be swaddled in her old chenille robe curled up on one of the metal lawn chairs. Her signature red apron would already be in place as she sat beside me. We would sit in companionable silence for a while as I watched the steam rise and swirl from her cup. Little patter sounds of water droplets would punctuate the air on occasion as a breeze shook the leaves of the Silver Leafed Maples in the yard. The only disturbance to the morning would be the occasional raucous caw of a crow in the cornfield or the gentle moo of one of the cows dotting the pasture.Her big colorful rooster would strut across the lawn, flap up and perch on the fence post and crow to his hearts content. Little speckled hens as well as red and snow white ones mingled across the damp grass hunting, pecking, and scratching for worms. They would scatter as Old Mickey and Little Minnie, my uncles hunting dogs, trotted up from the holler after a night of tracking. Plopping down with a contented sigh in front of my chair, they would yawn and stretch out for a nap. I would unfold myself letting my feet dangle and rest on their warm fur.
Granny would begin to hum and sometimes break in with a few throaty words of whatever hymn or song was on her mind. Although she sat next to me I always knew that she was far away in her thoughts visiting another place and time. Perhaps she was a young girl again sitting on the porch with her own mother enjoying the same simple pleasures of a rainy day. Sometimes she would softly begin to tell me one of those memories, her words painting such a vivid picture that I thought I was there with her too.She lost her mother at a young age, around her thirteenth year I think, and she missed her terribly just as I was missing her today. She would have loved this morning, a break in the usual routine, with nothing special to do but spend time with one another enjoying a warm cup of coffee to ward off the morning chill, the crow of a rooster, the cackle of hens, and the patter of rain.After a while she would slowly rise and reluctantly announce, "Best get this day started.", as she bid her memories one last lingering look. She would turn to me and smile coaxing me through the door towards the dreaded hairbrush, jelly toast, and a cold frothy fresh glass of milk. Then the rhythm of the day would begin.
Returning to the present as the cold from the stepping stones under my bare feet began to seep through, I announce to no one in particular, "Best get this day started." I reluctantly turn from my memories after one last lingering look towards the still dreaded hairbrush. Perhaps for old times sake I will make myself some jelly toast and a glass of milk to go along with whatever other delicious things this day might hold.

Blessings,
Miss Sandy

Photos are scenes from around my grandmothers home