Yesterday's newspaper had an article about an old fashioned five and dime. A photo of pink lozenges brought back memories of my grandmother. My father’s mother became a widow when my father was 12 years old. Her sister, Emma, said that when Grandfather died, my grandmother went into their bedroom, climbed in bed, and stayed there for three days. Times were tough for them to begin with, and I’m sure Gramma had no idea what she was going to do to provide for three young children. Aunt Emma was an old-maid schoolteacher in Wyoming. She came to the rescue by opening her house to the troubled family of four. In return my grandmother cooked and kept the house. As her children grew up and got married, they each began taking a six-month stint having my grandmother living with them. Perhaps it was just a young girl’s perception, and I don’t deny it, but our six months with Gramma every 12 months were interesting times. Being the only granddaughter of eight grandchildren, you would thin
And Her Never Ending knitting