“And be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted…” My grandmother, on my father’s side, died while I was still an infant. My other granny, I knew, however. I loved to go to her house, as a boy. The table was always set in case someone dropped in unexpectedly. And you knew there was tantalizing food under the extra tablecloth that was used to cover it. It only needed to be warmed up a little.
When my granny unbraided her hair, it would reach the floor as she sat in her rocker and combed it, after a washing. Her apron, I found, was a part of her daily dress. She had a lot of Cherokee blood in her, which was evident by her dark complexion and high cheekbones. Grandma Morrison was an old-time Primitive Baptist. I can remember her rocking and reading her Bible as she puffed on her corncob pipe and chewed on a twist of tobacco. And who could forget her old spittoon made from an empty Maxwell House coffee can? She was one of the kindest, most tender-hearted people I have ever known. And when I remember that, the pipe and the chew don't seem to be that important to me. But, of course, you may feel differently about people like that.
It’s hard to find fault with someone who loves you unconditionally.
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