While growing up in the city of San Anton’,

we taking lessons of piano playin’

and learning lots from school

with our friends that were so cool.

 

But when it came to the summertime,

I took upon going to the “ranch”  where you could hear a dime

drop for miles further than one can see

and spent time with my Grandma and Grandpa with glee.

 

During the days we would wake up to smells of eggs, homemade biscuits and bacon

before taking off to the garden to pick out some fresh veggies we’d be cookin’

later that day.  We’d pack it up to go visiting relatives and friends

and run errands in the town six miles around the bends.

 

During the heat of the day though,

we would make sure that we were bourough’d

in the cool of the home and tell tales of the news

that was certain to be the town’s mews.

 

We would cook and sew

practice Spanish and learn about the makings of the afghan throw.

At the end of the Saturday day, we would pick out our late night snack

be it a bowl of cereal or ice  cream, we would begin to attack

the lesson for the students for Sunday School,

after our baths and change of clothes for bed that night.

 

My Grandma would be with her snack and the Bible

and the next day’s lesson layed out before her on the table

across from me where I sat and listened to her

practice the lesson’s lecture,

with extreme delight.

 

Once done with that, we would wash the dishes with the well water

available there, and smells of well water and the sink scrubbed down with the Ajax cleanser,

we went off to bed knowing that we were prepared

for the next day and all lessons learned.

 

At the end of each summer, too, I would never forget

the talks we had at that table and the garden and bet

who would be up first the next morning

and start planning for the day I would be returning.

 

To this day, long after she has gone,

I hold in my memories and smells of those days past done.

At the end of each summer, I could never forget the smells

of fresh daisies and roses, country air, sizzling bacon and fresh biscuits, and the swells

of the fresh veggies and the life lessons I would learn through her lessons on Saturday evenings.

 

 

While I do miss those days, I’m grateful to have the memories and smells that remind me of those days; and, no one could ever take that from me. 🙂

 

 

 

 

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