SHE LOVED ME
Excerpt from my latest manuscript.
We spotted the half-buried wagon wheels from a quarter mile off. The tired clapboard home was washed mostly in the shade of mighty white oaks. My grandma was out on the front porch watering her potted plants. The front porch ran the entire length of the front of the modest wooden home with the curling wooden shingles. It was four faded and weathered wooden steps up from the grass, weeds, and patches of rust colored dirt. The worn steps were on three sides. One centered on the front door that was wide open, the loose wire mesh on the screen door flapped faintly in the breeze, another two sets of stairs on the sides of the porch. A rainbow of brilliant colored flowers sat on the twisted top of the picket railing and on make due stacked wood stands flanking the front door. Two bigger, non-matching terra cotta, pots sat on both sides of the front steps with plants that looked more like bushes.
image courtesy of trip adviser.com
My grandma Jonas looked out over the top of her glasses. The golden chain around her sagging neck hung down like upside down rainbows on both sides of her peach colored plastic glasses that rested just short of the end of her tiny nose. Her thin red hair had faded like old paint since the last time I’d seen her. I could see from the gravel driveway her light brown eyes that were almost gold in color. She was hunched a bit more than the last time I’d seen her as well, even after setting down the tin water pail. I took note as she walked to the edge of the top of the steps and used her liver spotted and bright green veined hand to block the sun from her face as she gazed out at the unknown visitors.
I got out and stretched awkwardly and waved. My Mah-Mah opened her mouth with a perfect circle then covered it with her frail fingers, “Oh! It’s my Danny Boy!” She almost yelled to herself as she got down the splintered steps as quickly as she could muster and almost ran as I walked toward her. She held her arms out before she was half way across the yard. I could see the tears running down her frail and weathered face. I was her youngest and only daughter’s oldest child. That made me way more special to her than I was, but I knew she loved me like her Bible, and that was sayin’ something.
Sunday, May 20, 2018 @ 10:01 pm
What a blessed man you were to have such a grandmother! Lovely memories!
Monday, May 21, 2018 @ 3:10 am
Fond memories are the bomb! I have some very special memories of my grandmother, my mom’s mother. They will always stay with me.
Monday, May 21, 2018 @ 4:22 am
“Loved me like her Bible . . .” That says it all Floyd!
Blessings!
Monday, May 21, 2018 @ 5:37 am
I love this, Floyd! Such vivid description! Your words make it possible to visualize the scene as though you snapped a photo! Thanks SO much for sharing.
Monday, May 21, 2018 @ 9:51 am
Thanks for sharing this snippet, Floyd. Beautiful!
Monday, May 21, 2018 @ 2:28 pm
Your descriptive way with words makes me feel like I am right there. Your grandmother sounds like such a sweet, dear, little soul, and I know she loved you dearly since she loved you like she loved her Bible. What a Godly heritage you have, brother. May the Lord bless you. Praying for you faithfully.
Monday, May 21, 2018 @ 11:35 pm
It is a wondrous thing to be special. You were that special one to her. I understand, because I was special to both of my grandmothers. My Dad’s mother and I share the same birthday, so that set me apart for Grandma Stanton. My Mother was the eldest of my Grandma Onwiler, and I was the eldest born in Grandma’s home. She made no bones about it that I was her favorite making me biscuits for breakfast and saying I made these for Hazel. It embarrassed me to no end because I could see the green eyed monster in my sister’s eyes. Thank you for bringing back memories as you write about days past. I loved this post about your darling grandmother and her love for you.
Tuesday, May 22, 2018 @ 7:03 am
Oh my, “she loved me like her Bible.” That’s so precious. You are such a wonderful writer, Floyd. You make me feel like I’m right there. I can see your grandmother, her flowers, the house and porch, her tears and hurrying to you. . . all of it. You paint beautiful pictures with your words. I can hardly wait to read more.
Wednesday, May 23, 2018 @ 1:25 pm
You described this scene beautifully. I love the picture of the grandmother with her aged hands and stance and the porch with it’s weathered steps and unmatched terra cotta planters! I would like to be loved as much as one loves her Bible.
Thursday, May 24, 2018 @ 4:56 pm
And isn’t that just like Mah-Mah? Instead of scolding you for not visiting enough she welcomes you with tears and open arms. Special lady, special memories. Thanks for sharing, Floyd!
Saturday, May 26, 2018 @ 11:04 am
I am so glad you are giving us pieces of your manuscript. Grandparents are wonderful. I only knew my Mom’s parents but they were such a part of my growing up years. I wear my Grandmothers wedding band on one of my fingers, my mother left it to me. The best thing they pasted on to me was their unconditional love and care for me. That’s what I want my grandchildren to remember about me. Vivid writing brother..I can see that porch with those flowers in non-matching pots on it. Good writing.