Tilly Evan Jones

In the summers I stayed at my Grandma’s and Grampa’s home  (my father’s parents) for a week with my female cousins.  Honestly, for the most part I hated it, except for a few things.  I was homesick, and more than likely a little snot, and Grandma responded in kind with impatience.  My hair snarled and she cranked at my tears when she combed it.  Did not know my cousins well, never did get to know them.

Here is what I did like…

She had a wonderful wrap around screened in porch on her house and a spiked wrought iron fence around her yard.

My grandpa’s lap

the lonely yet exotic sound of the trains going past at night, while I sat by the window.

My dreams of flying high in the air, and looking at the world below.

And one time, one time only, Grandma unbending, sitting in her rocker, singing.

My best memories are the ones I keep.