Mine came back instantly when I passed the church where I went to Bible School, then down the road, now paved, that used to throw dust and gravel through the open windows of my Aunt's old 40-Ford. The house was there, beautifully restored, but when I pulled over I saw it as it was. It was huge back then, a labyrinth of rooms, filled with the comings and goings of aunts, uncles, cousins. Momma and I lived there after I was born since Daddy was in Korea. I remembered the dark, mysterioius smokehouse, the corn crib we climbed into, the barn, always full of kittens, Chit (my grandmother's) beloved chicken house. The yellow bell bush was still there, the one we had to cut our own switches from when we had transgressed. I slept with Chit, in her feather bed, so she could be sure I didn't get cold. The family was like a big blanket, moving around me all day as they tended the farm and the family. Momma was young, beautiful from dawn to dark, and my life was the happiest it would ever be. Soon, Daddy came home, a stranger to me. Handsome, tall as a tree and strong as a bear, it would take me 20 years to get to know him. When Chit had to move from that house, I was inconsolable. Now after all these years, I miss that feeling of security. The rest of my childhood was turmoil, AL soon became a player, and life was never the same. But I have that memory, where alcohol was not allowed, that safe place in my heart I can go back to when the struggle becomes too much, and I am warm and loved again.
Sorry I waxed on, but, if you like, tell you're favorite story.:welcome:
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