I remember the summer we
stayed with Nanny and Poppy.
We used to walk our mother around the
corner to the bus stop. On the way back we
stopped and picked up the hibiscus blossoms to
mix into our mud pies.
One terribly stormy afternoon our grandparents
made us sit on the couch, no lights, no television,
no radio. The lightening flashed through the lace
curtains. There was thunder, wind and pouring
rain. When our mother came home, jumping over
downed wires, we cried.
Evenings after dinner my sister and I sat around the
kitchen table with Poppy. We ate Ritz crackers with
grated cheese and played Sorry while
Poppy drank his nightly glass of buttermilk.