~Five Minute Friday~

“What’s a memory?…Something warm, my boy, something warm.”

Wilfrid Gordon McDonald Partridge by Mem Fox 

Turning back pages this morning, searching for words to share in this space. Miss, small in letters, large in meaning. I could stay here all day, weaving a story. Miss, the binding thread. But alas, I have only five minutes. ~Smile~


I am taken back to the place where I spent thirty~seven years of my life. Small town, nestled in the Blue Ridge Mountains.

A piece of me still resides there. My sweet Mama, Coach Pops, a sister, a brother, one each added in through marriage. Nephews, connection to nieces, cousins. My Aunt Frances, Uncle Larry, Aunt Barbara.

Graves that set atop a hill, a resting place for my Papa, a man who carried a large presence, my Granny, tiny and frail.

I miss them. Miss them all. Of late, my dreams have been filled with my Papa. Granny too. They seem so real. A foot in the past, and me there with them, my present broken self.

I look in the mirror, find my Mama looking back at me. If I lean in close, just beyond her, I see my Granny’s face.

Peeping into the past, I stand there, flannel “granny” jammies, hankie tucked in my pocket, thick socks on my feet. The bowed back, bent frame. I. Am. Her.

I am flooded with memories. Warm memories, of days long since passed. This tiny little woman, wielding a hoe to kill a snake. How she would heave her shovel into the ground, trap a mole. Stretched up tall, she might have been a full sixty inches. A hundred pounds soaking wet, rocks in her pockets.

She taught me to iron, this tiny woman. Handkerchiefs, ironed, properly creased and folded. If she were still here, she would surely scold me for folding mine straight from the dryer. Minus the starch, she made from scratch.

The games she played with us. Rook. Canasta. Chinese checkers and Scrabble. How I miss those days. Snowed in, warm and snug, a cake cooling on the counter. Granny teaching wisdom in the mundane, ordinary days of life.

Tiny as she was, she loved us big. Pushed us hard, giving us strength.

I think of her today. I miss her presence. Small, yet large.

Gifts of Grace 

Tammy Mashburn