Grandma was my father's mother. In 1950, she was pushing 80 years of age and was still full of energy. She had been widowed for six years and still insisted upon living by herself on the family farm. Although my folks had repeatedly asked her to come into to town and live with us, she always refused. Even if town was only six miles away, she preferred the country life and had no intention of ever becoming a "towny." On Saturdays, she drove her model T Ford coupe into town to "go to market" and on Sunday to church. It was an old car even then, but it looked like it was new. It had been repainted from its original black, and reupholstered several times, over the years, with each transformation making it more colorful. Grandma must have washed it often because, even with the dusty dirt roads, it still looked shiny and clean. Dad tried to get her to buy a newer car, but she always refused. She was "if it ain't broke, don't fix it" kind of person and she believed passionately in preventative maintenance. If you took care of a thing, it wasn't likely to break. Grandma insisted that her family attend her Sunday dinners after church. Since she was also a fabulous cook, it didn't take a lot of persuasion; although, in fairness, Mom tried to help out as much as Grandma would allow--which wasn't much. Grandma seemed to live for those Sunday dinners and, to tell the truth, so did my sister, Jane, and I: fried chicken, mash potatoes and gravy, or perhaps a wonderful roast beef brisket, pies and cookies out of this world. Yummm! My mouth still waters just remembering after all these years. In summer the fruits and vegetables were fresh and the rest of the year we ate what she had canned. She baked her own bread and cooked everything from scratch. If she wanted vegetables, she went to her garden--which was usually immaculately cleared of weeds. If she wanted fruit, she went to her orchard. When Grandma went to the grocery store in town, it was usually just to purchase the basics, like four, sugar, and so on. None of that newfangled prepackaged stuff for her; although, after Grandpa died, she did condescend to buy bottled milk. There was a lot going on at those dinners besides eating. In the background, Grandma's radio would be playing classical music and there would be lots of conversation. It could be about anything; astrology to astronomy, theology, politics, sports--everything except gossip. Grandma couldn't--and wouldn't--abide gossip. "If you can't say it to their faces, you shouldn't be sayin' it," was her unrelenting position. Just about everything else was fair game, though. After dinner, Grandma and Mom cleaned things up, while Dad either listened to the news or some sports event on the radio, or read the newspaper. Whichever he chose, he soon drifted off into a nap that would last at least an hour. Jane and I headed outdoors to play. We like to kick around a large inflated plastic ball and Grandma's farmdog, Rex, would usually join us to chase it. Sometimes, we would explore the barn or take a walk in the pasture. Rex was always happy to accompany us in such ventures. Supper would consist of leftovers from dinner. After eating, the women again cleaned things up and then we would get into our new Chevy Fleetline and head back to town and the rest of the week. ________________ This is the kind of story and render that I most love doing. The character is fictional but a lot of what is described was true of my youth. Perhaps it is because I just celebrated my 70th birthday a couple of days ago, but I find myself thinking about those times a lot more of late. Sigh. Sure got to 70 awfully fast!!! Anyway, thanks for dropping by and taking a look. Comments are always appreciated and thanks to those of you who have commented on my recent works. You mean the world to me, Jeremy