I don't think about my grandparents as much as I used to for they have both been dead for over twenty years now. When I do think of them I feel very lucky to have had two such warm and loving individuals as part of my young life. I remember my visits to their home with great fondness as I reminisce over the old farm house they lived in in Bastrop, Louisiana with the huge garden and the snakey, overgrown pond and the curious salt lick that supplied the dozen or so cows that my Papa kept-- for what I never really knew. I remember the dogs they had, one named Buster in particular. I loved Buster and I remember the ticks that me and my sister Mary Ann also got on us and how my mom used to have to check us girls every night before we went to bed to be sure we were tick free. I remember the old propane tank and the old propane heaters in the tiny two bedroom house with the even tinier kitchen. I remember my grandmother's (I called her Annie and this was really her name but I didn't know it for many years after) flowers and how much she loved them and how proud she was of them when they would grow and bloom. I remember my Papa's old garage for it leaned over at about a 30% angle to the right and parking in there was at your own risk. I remember my grandmother's cooking with her homemade biscuits, and her fresh cream style corn, and her fresh homemade pickles and relish and preserves that she kept under the bed in the extra bedroom that me and my sister slept in when we were visiting. I remember the cold cold winters when we came for Christmas and the six handmade quilts that my Annie would put on top of Mary Ann and myself so that we would not freeze to death during the night (the little heaters didn't work so good). I remember the town of Bastrop and how it always stunk cause there was a papermill there and how me and my sister always made funny faces whenever we all went to town to see my aunt Flossie. I remember walking down the old gravel road to visit my grandmother's neighbors (their house was rather like the Bumpases on that movie called A Christmas Story) and how proud she was that we girls had come to visit so she could show us off, and most of all I remember how I used to wait for my Papa to come home from work when we would visit in the summertime, and as soon as I saw him come through the gate I would run as fast as I could off the big old gray slatted porch right for his arms. He always knew that he had to catch me or else! And I guess I remember the most how very loved and welcomed and blessed we always felt whenever we got to be around these two wonderful people....you sure can't beat memories like these, and well, I guess I still miss them a whole lot.

sylvia hamilton