In Memoriam ~ Ethel Blanton Parrott ~

Sentimental Sunday ~ Grandma's Precious Memories

My Grandmother was a happy soul.  She looked for the silver lining in every cloud.  And for that I am appreciative. She taught me how to enjoy life's every moment.  She taught me how to laugh at myself and to not take things so seriously.  She showed me that life need not be spent with a frown on your face.

She was the "Keeper" in the family.

She kept her sweet memories and tokens of happy times close to her.

She showed me the importance of remembering.

She was gentle, grand lady.

This is a tiny snapshot of her and a friend. The picture is not even an inch square.  I did not realize that they had these types of booth pictures way back in the 1920's.   She kept that tiny token of a happy time,  for all those years.

The beau in the picture is simply labeled  "Cliff Dedmon".  If you recognize this handsome fellow, please let me know.



Grandma. Ethel Leigh Blanton Parrott

She kept this Valentine card that was given to her by my parents.

The card must be circa 1956.

Stored in it's envelope, neatly.
Tucked into the top dresser drawer with other treasures she kept.

Lizzie Ellis' Gravesite~ Day of Funeral 1949

This was a photo of her mother's gravesite taken by Ethel Blanton Parrott.

The cemetery is Mountain Rest in Kings Mountain , North Carolina.  This was a very painful day for my grandmother, Ethel. She loved her mother very much. 

*******************************************************

Memories of Grandma ~

She was a fine lady, a lady with principles and kind words toward others.

She giggled over the simplest of things and was a joy to be around.

She looked for the good in others and wasn't often disappointed.

She cared for others and put herself and her own needs behind others endlessly.

A wonderful Grandmother.

I miss her.

She was one special lady.

The Unknown Ancestor

Found among my grandmother's things were a number of old photos. Among them were snapshots of the grandchildren, mixed in with school photos from all of us kids. Some of her own children as well. The normal mixed bag that just about anyone's grandma has tucked away in a top dresser drawer.

"The Top Dresser Drawer" File.

The musty smell of the mixed lot of photos tells the story.

They were kept for awhile. For years, they were treasured.

Among the old photos were some that were especially worn and tattered. All were cherished, despite their condition.

There is one that I keep returning to, pulling it back out, for yet another close look.

I have scanned them all into my computer, putting them in a special folder, marked "grandma's pics". My very own version of the "Top Dresser Drawer" file.

The picture is an old tin type. I looked at it in the bright sunlight, several times, scanning every inch of it.

Searching for a name. An initial. Some indication as to the identity of this man in the picture.

He sits in what appears to be a straight backed chair. Beside a table with a curtain and window behind him. This could be a back drop of a photography studio, hard to tell.

He wears a wide brimmed hat. His hands are placed somewhat carefully on his legs, only a hint of a smile, if any at all. He has determined look, as he gazes out from under dark brows. A light colored pocket appears to have been added to his jacket. He wears a vest as well.

This man is important. He figures into my family tree and meant enough to my Grandmother to be placed with the other cherished photographs in the Grandma File.

Just who he is haunts me. He may be an ancestor I have already located. I may already know him pretty well. I may have visited him and just not know it. But the not knowing is unsettling to the 'Graveyard Rabbit' I have become. This just makes my nose twitch a little..giggle.

Grandma did not know for certain this man's identity or she would have marked it somehow.

I feel like he is from her side of the family, why I think that I am not totally sure. Maybe something she told me long ago?

He has been taken out and looked at so often that I feel like I know him.

He is now so familar to me.
He sits above me, on the desk and peers down at me..taunting me somehow.

"You keep looking, girl." " You can find out who I am, if you keep trying".

Maybe one day I will. Sure won't quit trying.


If this picture is familiar to you, please contact me.

Meanwhile he will sit here and maybe tell me something with his piercing gaze..
Well, I can hope can't I? Grin.

A Giggle and Dip ~

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...

Oh, yes.

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