My daddy was much older than my mother, as he was born in 1888, she, in 1926.

My memories of him are the mealtimes we shared as a family and sitting in  his lap singing. I remember him coming to check on me every day for  weeks after I started first grade.  He would come to  the classroom until the teacher assured him I loved school and was okay.

After he passed, my mother was left with six kids, ages from thirteen to two, at the age of thirty four. I remember thinking she was old then. I remember her taking a piece of paper and cutting out rows of paperdolls. Money was scarce, but she always  had a big garden and canned and  froze vegetables, so we never went hungry. She always had a big flower garden and we spent many hours there.

She was a great storyteller and I loved to hear her memories of her past. She also passed down my fathers past that he  related to her.

She lived a life of giving to others of herself. She was warm and had as sense of humor that I did not appreciate until I was older. I don't think I will ever measure up to her, but that would be my wish.