Memories

My earliest memory is of my Uncle Denny and his friend Red Eagle (a real live Indian!) when they were home on leave from the Navy.  They were swinging me in the kitchen...one holding my arms and the other holding my legs. I remember laughing while I worried that they were getting terribly close to the oven and I was afraid I'd hit it. 

So that is where my story begins. Or at least what I remember. 

I apologize if anyone ever reads this and feels like I jump around too much. That is just how I roll.

I had an amazing childhood.  I was surrounded by people that adore me.  I didn't know my father (more about that another time).  Most of the time my mom & I lived with my grandparents. I happened to have the best grandparents EVER.  And I had lots of aunts & uncles & cousins that were over all the time.  We had picnics, BBQ's, fishing trips, etc.  And everyone was invited.  For a social butterfly such as myself, it was heaven. 

One of my best memories flood back anytime I smell vegetables fresh from a garden.  My grandparents had an enormous garden.  I realize now it may not have been as huge as I recall but to a small child it seemed to go on forever.  Especially when I "helped" dig it up in the spring.  We worked out there a lot.  Often just my Grampa and I.  And after all of our hard work and waiting we would sit down against the garage and sample our bounty.  Sitting beside the tomato plants he'd cut a freshly picked cucumber with his pocket knife and hand me a piece.  Or let me pull a piece of rhubarb and eat it (without rinsing it off even...but don't tell my Gramma).  I don't remember even talking much during these snacks. But there was no reason to.  Eventually we'd hear my Gramma call out "Frank!" and we'd head inside.

To this day the smell of a tomato plant makes me feel like a child...a very safe & adored child.  That's my favorite.