Amberson Ancestors angels Annie Neil Anthony Sarratt Atlanta Constitution Barber Barrett Beersheba Bessie Maude Parrott Beth Shiloh Bethany ARP Bethel Blanton Broad River Buffalo Baptist Church Camps Creek Baptist Carrie Parrott Catherine Hoyle Catherine Mull cemeteries Census Charles Heberton Ellis Christmas Christopher McCarter Civil War Cleveland County Clover Cocker Machine Cookies Craton Craton Rone Blanton Dallas David McSwain David Ross Ellis DNA Ebenezer Presbyterian Church Edith "Edy" Jane Sarratt Edward McKinley Parrott Elijah Turner Ellis Ellis/Turner Cemetery Ethel Blanton Parrott Family Fannie Fannie Crouch Blanton Ferry Fewell Gaffney Gaston County Gastonia George Barber George Huffstetler George Washington Blanton Georgia Grandma Grandpa Hannah McCarter Happy New Year Harvey L. Barber Hattie Parrott Helms Henry Weidner Hero Quitman Blanton Hollywood Cemetery Horses Isaac Whitman Blanton Jackson Jesse Parrott John Barber John Fewell John S. Hager Johnny Parrott Judith Moore Greene Letitia Ellis Sarratt Lizzie Ellis Lost Souls Lynn Mabel Hager Reynolds MacArthur Margaret Ann McCarter Margaret Dellinger Mary Barber mary elizabeth greene Mary Nichols Matthew Nichols McAdenville McCarter McCurry Memoriam Memories Michael Hoyle Minor McCarter Mountain Rest Cemetery Nancy Turner Nannie Barber Parrott NC Nichols Noah Tyre Parrott Nobel John Sarratt North Carolina Old Timey Parrott Peter Hoyle Rachel Gaston Blanton Reuben Blanton Rhyne Richard Perrott roadside scenes Robert Samuel Parrott Sarah Parrott Sarratt Searching Sentimental Saturday Sentimental Sunday Shelby Snow South Carolina Summer Thanksgiving The Search Thoughtful Thursday Turner Unknown Ancestor Valentines Wesson Why? Wilburn Larry Parrott William Barber William J. Parrott William McSwain Woodside Cemetery York County
- ▼ 2010 (37)
- ► 2011 (15)
- ► 2012 (12)
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
When I think of my grandma, I can hear her giggle. She was a happy soul and a lot of fun to be around. I would spend the night with her and we would stay up way too late watching those old "whodunit?" movies. She loved a good thriller movie. She would talk all through it..musing on just who the guilty party was. She would poke fun at herself and giggle. She was a source of joy to me for sure.
We would talk about the family and she would tell me all the old stories she remembered from her mother. She took me along with her and Grandpa, on most trips to place flowers on her parent's graves. She always pointed out relatives that were buried nearby, telling me about them and giving me an idea of what they were like and who they were. She brought the past alive to me, time after time.
She was the designated 'Keeper' in the family. There seems to be one in every generation.
She kept the old pictures and the family lore. She is really the reason I became interested in searching, in the first place.
She sparked that tiny flame of interest in me. I have her to thank for this terrible malady that afflicts me, still today....thanks a bunch, Grandma...grin.
I guess she passed that 'Keeper' torch down to me...
The woman 'dipped'.
Now, the only reason that I even mention that here, (sorry Grandma), is because it was so darn comical.
You were just not "lady-like" if you dipped..Snuff is what we are talking about here, folks.
That vile smelling, dark, oozy liquid in an old tin can, that looks like chocolate syrup, but my-o-my and BOY-HOWDY, it AIN'T!
She was slightly embarrassed about this habit. She did not want just anyone to know or, HEAVEN FORBID!, see her do it.
The 'spitting-into-can' was kept handy..right below where she sat, most often. You had to watch your step carefully. Nothing could be worse than tipping over that darn thing. Ick. Really big Ick.
She had the terrible misfortune to get tickled over something and start giggling, once, when she had a mouth full of snuff. She choked on some of it. Not pretty. She would giggle and smile and choke some more.
She was a hoot that little grandma of mine. I sure miss her.
She was a friend of a great many people and well liked through out the community. She worked in her later years in the Boys Department of the Belks Store. She loved the talking to her customers and being 'out and about'. She was great at her job and people loved her for the way she was with them.
Grandma never drove a car and Grandpa would take her to work and come pick her up in the old Ford Galaxy that he had.
You would sit in the seat while being still..never squirming, and what ever you did. you would never, and I mean never, touch the dash of the car. You left smudges from your fingertips when you did that and that was simply not allowed.
Grandma loved flowers and plants. I do, too. She had a night blooming flower that made a spectacular blossom during one night's time..a breath-taking, sweet smelling flower as big as a dinner plate. It would bloom in all it's glory, only to fade and go limp in the morning's light. It was anticipated with much ado and then some. She would give updates over the phone as to when she thought it would bloom out. Then we would all get in the car and make the trip in our pajamas with a flashlight in our hands.
Nothing would stop the viewing of the flower..It was big. *Now, I have the same plant..and getting up to see the bloom is the norm*
Grandma loved to crochet. She would sit for hours and hours with her tiny needle flying back and forth in a small blur. She created beautiful, intricate bedspreads, over hours and hours that spread into years. She took to the task of teaching me her craft, like a true soldier preparing for battle. I would get cramps from the awkwardness of holding the strange feeling needle in my hands and spent hours with a grimace of concentration on my face. She kept telling me to hang in there, I almost had it. She stayed with me until I was able to release that grimace and finally let it melt into a slow smile.
I will never forget the smile she gave me and the assuring pat when I finally created something that resembled a double crochet. She told me that learning to do anything worthwhile, would stay with me for life, and that I would always have that craft to enjoy.
She was right about that.
I love it. To take a simple cotton string and make a beautiful, useful item out of it, is very satisfying. Thanks Grandma, for sticking with me, and not giving up on my stubby kids' fingers.
I learned to make those useful, well alright...not so much 'useful' as 'pretty-to-look-at' old grandma's doilies that were once upon a time, 'all the rage'..
Romantic. Victorian. From an era gone by. Old fashioned.
But still pretty. I see them in estate auctions and antique shops and just have to run my fingers over the stitches. Pineapples woven intricately in the circle with a row of lace around it. One glance at these takes me back to another time and place.
I hear a soft giggle and feel a reassuring pat on my hand. "That's getting better..You almost have it now."
Grandma. How I miss you.
Ethel Leigh Blanton Parrott
November 10, 1906 ~ October 31, 1990
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
I spent a lot of time with my grandparents, growing up. Time seemed to slow down when you were with your grandparents. There were warm, comfortable, memories made with them. Long talks while sitting on the front porch with a fly swatter in your hand. Sitting on top of the ice cream crank while Grandpa turned the handle.
The smell of the woods and soft green moss is imprinted on my memories of Grandpa Parrott. The path through the woods, up to my Great Uncle Ed's house. The smell of vanilla pipe tobacco and cigars intermingle in that memory.
The scruffiness of "briars" on his cheek as I gave him a goodbye smooch on the cheek come to mind. All these swirl together and bring back my childhood days.
I can still seeing him standing in front of the picture window with his hands dug deep into his pockets, rattling the change in the pockets through his fingers thoughtfully.
His weight rolling from the tip of his shoes back onto his heels, time and time again. I think that retirement was tough at times on the man. He struggled to keep himself occupied and spent long hours on the porch, pondering the smoke of his pipe that swirled around his head..No doubt solving all the world's problems in an afternoon or two. He was a man of few words by the time I came along. You had to know when to keep quiet around grandpa. He liked to ponder things. I used to watch those same swirls of pipe smoke and try to see what it was he was seeing. Little girls just do those things.
My memories are good ones and I think I will keep them here.
Secured on this electronic page where I can come in and take a peek every now and then. My own little magic treasure box, kept on my dresser top, tied up with a pink satin bow. Every little girl had to have one. A small, little box filled with trinkets (to some) and treasures (for me).
"Now you just go on in there, your Grandma's around here somewheres...Go ahead on in the house, Janie Girl."
"I will be inside, right here, directly"...."We'll have dinner, here in a little while".
Words from my Grandpa that will echo in my mind forever..as well as my heart.
Especially when I catch of whiff of someone's cigar smoke.
Wilburn Larry Parrott
October 20, 1903 ~ December 15, 1998