Nostalga

Nostalga is a strange thing--it sneaks up on you when you least expect it. I was in Starbucks this morning and noticed a poster showing a girl sitting between her grandparents. The caption was something like Pull out the hide a bed and put on another pot of coffee.

After seeing that and remembering all the times of visitation with various people, I have been depressed all afternoon.

I miss visiting my grandparent Granny Tucker whose house always smelled slightly of mothballs and good food. I miss visiting:

Aunt Ruby who always put on the grandest feast ever and entertained us royally.

New Braunfels with all sorts of friends and relatives--I miss stepping into the cold water to float around the bend, hit the rapids and survive to float again. And the food we cooked and brought there--cold oven pound cake, vegetables from the garden, homemade burgers, unhealthy snacks of all kinds; singing hymns late at night in the screened porch; watching Sam and the other men play horseshoes and 42; yakking with the women as we sat on the green bank and watched the kids swing off "the rope" and paddle in the shallow water.

sitting around tables in the fellowship center at Minter Lane and having "Sanging and Sandwich" nights in which we got out the old brown hymnals full of Stamps Baxter hymns and let go

Oh, well nostalga is bittersweet and I am glad I have those times to remember.