Grandma Sings

So, yesterday was my birthday. Fun. I was on my way up the hill to go sking, when my phone went off. I answered to find my cute cousin Janell on the other end wishing me a happy birthday. She said she and her brother Mark always call each other on their birthday and sing to each other because, when Grandma was alive, she would call them on their birthday and sing to them. It is their way of carrying on her tradition.

That is so funny because Grandma would always call us first thing on our Birthday. You would answer the phone and hear, "Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you...." So now, Julie and I alway call each other on our birthday and sing. It is our way of keeping Grandma's tradition alive. Mechelle

Bed Making

I remember sleeping over night every now and then with Grandma and Grandpa out at the farmhouse. I distinctly remember Grandma and Grandpa crawling into the bottom of the bed and sleeping without pillow despite the fact that they had plumped pillows at the top of the bed.

Very pleased with herself, Grandma explained that by sleeping with their heads at the bottom of the bed, pillowless, made it very easy to make the bed in the morning. All one had to do was pull the sheets, blanket and comfortor tight and it looked as though no one had slept in it all night.

I, not being a huge fan of making beds myself, thought this made perfect sense and crawled in right next to them. It was not too comfortable but it beat making the bed!!! I wonder what Grandpa thought about sleeping pillowless? Maybe it was another rubber egg scenario.

Pennies for Chicken

A week ago we took the kids to a movie. I went out to get a refill on the bottomless popcorn David bought. As I waited in line I noticed the girls in front of me were paying for their treats with pennies.

Boy did that bring back memories. When I was in high school I had a job at Kentucky Fried Chicken. One evening while I was at work, Grandma and Grandpa came in to get some dinner. When it came time to pay, Grandma swung her purse up onto the counter.

I am sure all Grandma's grandchildren can remember that purse well. It was the source of all those balloons and butterscotch candys. She was quick to hand these treasures out to her grandchildren. We were all thrilled that the bank was always so 'generous' with Grandma, to 'give' her handfulls and handfulls of free balloons.

After removing an old fashion leather pouch, Grandma poured a pile of coins onto the counter. She then proceeded to count out the coins and pay for the entire meal with coins only. In the middle of counting money she leaned over and said that she would never pay with coins with just anyone.

I assured her I did not mind and still smile when I think of her counting out her coins.

The other Egg Story

Hi, Mechelle here to tell you another story about Grandma and Grandpa.

This is most likely my favorite Grandma/pa story. Our story starts in the dinning room of the country home with Grandpa at the table and Grandma in the kitchen fixing breakfast. I had stayed the night and was sleepily rubbing my eyes and listening to Grandma run around the Kitchen talking all the while. I don't know who she was talking to since Grandpa and I were not very talkative at the early morning hour.

I don't remember what Grandpa was doing. I don't think he was reading the paper for they lived so far out in the country I don't think they would have paid to have the paper delivered. But maybe he was just sitting there with me.

As the soft morning rays fall across the table Grandma brought over a plate for Grandpa. I don't remember what was on the plate, I am guessing there were toast and hash browns and some fruit, but that is all a guess. What I do remember was the eggs.

I had never seen eggs cooked like that before. They looked like rubber. The yoke was completely broken and the whole egg was cooked flat. It was the most unappetizing egg I had ever seen. Astonished, I gasped, "Grandpa is that how you like your eggs?"

Grandma answered for him from the Kitchen, "Oh, yes Harold you love your eggs that way. All cooked flat and rubbery. I have to break the yoke for him every morning. He just loves to exercise his jaw chewing and chewing forever on those leathery eggs. He can't get enough....." and on and on she went. As the monolog poured out from the Kitchen, Grandpa leaned over to me and whispered, "It's how I get 'em," and went on eating.

Its Grandma!

Back in the pre-caller ID days. It was always a guess who was calling on the phone. Often our family would try to guess who was calling by the one sided conversation we could hear.

Grandma was hands down the fastest and easiest to guess. Two or three words into the phone answerer's first sentance we would always know and say, "Oh its Grandma."

How could this be you may ask? Easy! EVERY SINGLE TIME Grandma called the first thing she would say was, "What ya doing?" I can still hear those words and her intonation.

Thus the phone answerer would say, "We are eating dinner" or "I am doing homework." Grandma loved to know what were doing and that was ALWAYS the first thing she would ask.

Whenever I talk to a niece or nephew on the phone and the first thing that comes out of my mouth is, "What ya doing?" I almost laugh out loud. Like Grandmother like Granddaughter!

Grandpa Talks

Ok, I have a thousand stories in my head to write about Grandma. But there just is not enough time to write them all down, but I can do this one today.

To continue on with the driving car theme. Grandma and Grandpa lived about a mile from church. They had driven this mile countless ~ countless ~ countless times as they were activity in the church and had many meetings there weekly and lived in Pullman for about 50 years.

I was about 14 or so and rode home from church with Grandma and Grandpa one Sunday afternoon. Grandma was talking (yes, I know you are shocked to hear she was talking) on and on about everything and nothing all at the same time. I was nodding and smiling and wishing to Bittssy~Bettsy that I could get out of my dress and into a comfy pair of jeans.

The only time Grandma would stop her conversation (or should I say her monolog?) was to give Grandpa directions to his house. “And sister so-an-so was doing such-an-such: Harold turn left here - and I heard that sister so-an-so was…: Harold turn right here…” and on and on it went, until we were a few blocks from the house. We were at a stop sign, which of course Grandma had told Grandpa to stop at, and Grandpa turned to Grandma and said “Good thing you are with me Effie or I would never make it home would I?”

Grandma looked like she had sucked on a lime; her face was so pinched up in all directions. I could not help but laugh and laugh. That made Grandma’s face all the more pinched, but it was funny and I was 14. That was the only time I ever heard Grandpa talk back to Grandma. And it was one of the few times I ever heard Grandpa talk at all. Mechelle

Photo of Grandma

I love this photo of Grandma and Grandpa. Grandma was not comfortable with her beauty. To me, that was what made her beautiful. Later on in life she took to wearing big, colorful wigs and she had false teeth. But I much prefer this look. Her natural hair and smile.

Grandpa is working here in this photo. That is how I alway remember him: working. The little girl in the back is a friend visiting with her father, also in the back. My dad, William Nay, is the baby in the front and HW is just behind Grandma. A big Happy Birthday to HW. Thank you for all the kindness you have shown to me and my children HW. You are the best. Mechelle

Road Trip Revenge

Being the youngest of 5 and a "surprise," I came a wee bit late into this world. I was, and am still, 6 years younger than the next youngest child. This meant that when the older kids were teenagers and too busy to leave for family vacations, there was plenty of room for Grandma and Grandpa to join us.

The 5 of us (and sometimes another sibling) drove the long distance to our desired destination. Dad did most of the driving and Grandma was amazing. She kept that conversation going the entire time Dad drove. Hour upon hour, she talked and talked and talked.

Not being a woman of many words myself, I am baffled by how she did this. She could talk and talk and talk about absolutely nothing. The fact her tongue did not wear out gives the Everready battery Bunny a run for his money.

The odd thing was once Dad stopped driving and Mom took his place to give him a rest, the car became completely silent. Grandma wanted to make sure her William Ney could rest well.

Very kind of her, except here in laid the problem. My Mom, being a light sleeper, could not rest while Grandma talked and talked and talked. Once it was Mom's turn to drive and the car became quiet and peaceful, my dad was not the only person who would drift off to sleep.

Mom would not be able to stay awake while driving. Poor Dad would only get a half hour break when Mom could not take it any longer and would ask Dad to drive.

Once he got back behind the wheel, Grandma would start her engine and the gibbering would begin. Mom, who moments earlier could not keep her eyes open, now could not get them to shut. Thus the cycle would continue hour after hour, mile upon mile. Until we finally arrived to our destination, all EXHAUSTED, grumpy and with splitting headaches!

OK, maybe Motel 6 was not that much better!

The road trip stories are like dominoes. Once you get started there is no stopping until they all fall down. In this case written down.

As a child we almost never stayed in hotels. However I remember one stay at Motel 6 (of course) the cheapest night of sleep a person could find. I guarantee you that if there had been a cheaper place my grandparents would have found it.

I am sure the only reason my grandparents consented to stay in a hotel was that it was FREEZING temperatures outside and the fact that my dad was along for the ride and would not tolerate sleeping in the car.

YEAH! Finally a good night of rest on the road, this time not literally (See blog "Motel 6, Where Are You?").

Think again! Grandma, or it could have been Grandpa (I should not give Grandma all the credit), strikes again. About 10:00 pm I wake in a puddle of sweat. I felt like the Wicked Witch on the "Wizard of Oz" movie, "I'm Melting, I'm Melting!" I was melting for it was 110 degrees F in that room at least. I tossed and turned all night and in the morning I wondered why that hotel could not figure out how to keep their temperatures under control.

It was not until later years when I went on a high school choir tour and stayed in a hotel as a teenager. At that time I learned that each room controlled their own temperatures.

The light went on in my head and I knew exactly what had happened some 8-10 years previous. My Grandparents having mixed feelings of feeling ripped off for paying such high prices for a night of rest AND wanting to make sure they got every penny worth for their money. It had been THEM who turned the temperature up to degrees that even people in Phoenix could not tolerate.

Who cares if you are able to sleep or not as long as you get your money worth. All in the name of getting the biggest bang for your buck!

Motel 6, Where are you?

It is road trip therapy. I think Mechelle and I are trying to "work" through all the emotional damage that was done during the endless miles between Washington and Utah.


How many times had I driven on that road? I could not tell you. I do remember the first time that David and I drove from Utah to Boise. When we reached our home outside of Boise after a trip to Utah. I can not express the jubilation I felt that I would not have to drive another 6-8 hours to get to Pullman. The indescribable joy in my heart at that moment was so intense.


On the same trip to Utah, that I mentioned in my story titled, "Why I don't like apples on road trips." I do not remember why we had a late start to our drive to Utah but I do remember that we would need to stop on the way to sleep.


I know I did not realize before I agreed to go on this joyful journey that sleeping on the road with Grandma and Grandpa litterally meant that: "sleeping on the road." I wonder if my mom realized this when she allowed me to go with them.


It was late and we pulled into a rest stop. After doing the business that one does at rest stops we did not continue on the road. Grandma seating me behind Brent, tells my older brother (who, in his youth, was not always overly concerned about the wellbeing of his younger siblings), "Go a head and put the seat all the way down and push it all the back." I suddenly felt all the air squeezed out of my lungs and wondered if the walls were closing in on me.


Here I am already uncomfortable before Grandma invites my big brother to sleep in my lap. At this moment Grandma was not my favorite person. At least SOMEONE got a good night of rest!


As I look back on this eventful trip. I don't remember ever willingly go with Grandma and Grandpa again on road trips. Not only did I eat 1/4 of a glob sandwich in a 24 hour time frame and feel terror that Grandpa would throw up any minute, but I felt like a competitor in the Guniess World Record to see how many people you can cram into a small car. Only I had to remain there for hours attempting sleep. It is a wonder I and/or Grandma made it to Utah a live.

Trash Bag Story

This is Mechelle. Julie's Sister. I have a memory of Grandma that can not be forgotten! When we were kids, we took a lot of trips down to Utah to visit my Aunt Effie. (Named after her mother) It was a 10,000 mile drive. Well maybe it was not that far but is it sure felt like 10,000 miles.

We rarely stopped except for gas. We never bought anything, except for gas. And if we were tired, we would stop at a rest stop and sleep in the car.

The car. This car was a VW rabbit. They liked it because of...that's right... the gas mileage. I think it got 62 miles to the gallon. But it was not very comfortable. We would cram as many of us in there as we could, pack some sandwiches, clothes and go.

There is a gold mine of stories here to be told, but the one I will focus on today is about the packing. Grandma and Grandpa never had or at least, never used a suitcase. Instead, as you might have guessed from the title of this post, they used garbage bags. Everything we needed went into a garbage bag; clothes, food, shoes, etc.

One trip I am recalling, the car did not smell very good. And to make matters worse the smell got stronger and stronger as the trip went on. But what could I do but endure? I was a child and had no say in the situation. I did not want to make Grandma feel bad so I did not tell her that her car stunk.

We FINALLY got to my aunt's house, we started unpacking the over packed car. I took in trash bag after trash bag. Finally I was handed a bag that smelled very badly. The same smell I had endured for the past 15 hours or so. I looked into the trash bag and found not clothes, food, shoes or even a toothbrush. What did I find? That is right, you guessed it: TRASH. Someone had grabbed the wrong bag and instead of my clothes for the trip, we had brought trash.

Why I don't like apples on road trips

I remember the many road trips to Utah in the back of Grandma and Grandpa's itsy bitsy diesel rabbit. Grandma and I were crammed into the back seat which was more adequate for the luggage than humans.

On these trips I remember absolutely never stopping for anything but gas and an occasional rest stop because they were free. We never ever I mean NEVER stopped for a bite to eat, to stretch our legs, or a site to see.

Grandma always managed to make sandwiches and cram them into an old shoe box. It was enough to sustain us until we made it to the nearest relative's who would take pity upon us and give us food.

One of these many memorable trips, I remember being crammed in the compartment behind Grandpa, who was driving. With Grandma sitting next to me because my oldest brother Brent needed the front seat (a very kind and sacrificial act).

It was meal time and Grandma was handing out what she claimed to be sandwiches, we had to take her word for it because it looked more like glob to me. I, being the youngest and smallest, received only a quarter of a sandwich while Brent got at least 3 whole sandwiches to himself. Although I was hungry, I remember being grateful for once to be the youngest.

Then she handed out apples that once bitten into had the texture of applesauce, they were so bruised and softened with age. She order Grandpa Harold to eat up and then turning to me she whispered that apples make Grandpa vomit (her word exactly).

To Grandma throw up was vomit, you reared a child not raised (that is what you did with cattle), and #2 was stool. I am laughing at how gross and overly graphic this is but I HAVE to write this. It was just so Grandma. My apologies! Aunt Effie told me I had to write it as it was or it just would not be as interesting. To Aunt Effie's defense I doubt she thought I would ever be so crude as to write those "potty" words.

In the next existence, when we will view our life I will be especially interested in seeing the facial expression upon my 8 year old face after hearing Grandma's whisper. You see there are few in this world that probably detest throw up more than I . In fact I was so bad that my mom and sister wondered how I would ever handle being a mom.

My darling sister would get me to do anything she wanted me to do just by making the gagging noise. Although I knew perfectly well that she was faking it and doing it so I would obey her, I DID NOT CARE! I would jump up and do her bidding every single time just to get her to stop.

Oh how that noise made my stomach turn and I KNEW they were fake. Once I remember her fake gagging herself on my bed so that I would walk all the way to the kitchen to get her a glass of water (which was a daily occurrence-finally I am getting my revenge Mechelle), except this time she misjudge with her fingers down her throat and in fact made herself throw up. I don't think I had ever been so mad at her in my life, for throwing up on MY bed!!!

Now that you have a glimpse of how much I utterly and completely can not stand throw up, you may have a partial idea as to what my face would have looked like.

I remember thinking, actually yelling at the top of my thoughts, "WOMAN, WHY ARE YOU GIVING HIM AN APPLE THEN?" However, being the exceptionally well trained child that I was, I said not a word, pure miracle!

I did however pick up all my belongings and piled them up high on my lap. I also lifted my legs off the floor of the car because I was quite sure that if Grandpa did exactly as Grandma said, it would fall on the floor of the car and it would slide on back to where I was sitting.

I was horrified for the remainder of the 16 hour drive. Now as I look back over all those trips, I wonder why I was ever willing to go on them. I guess I was willing to so I could see my Aunt Effie!

Grandma the master Recycler

I have been trying to remember the funny things Grandma did that not everyone may have heard. One funny memory took place every Christmas day.

It was our family tradition to have a big Christmas Eve Feast. Grandma and Grandpa F were always there along with other families or individuals that would otherwise be spending their evening alone.

After dinner we always had a Christmas Program, a pinata, and then it was off to bed. We kids insisted that Grandma and Grandpa sleep over so that we would not have to wait for them in the morning.

They usually went home thus making the mornings an agonizingly long wait to finally open presents. When the 'production' would finally begin Grandma would be armed with her empty wrapping paper roll.

Unlike most children through out the world, we were not allowed to rip, tear or destroy the wrapping paper on our gifts. We had to carefully un-tape each piece of scotch tape. If we accidentally tore the paper in the process there was a loud intake of breath heard from our Grandma.

There were the times when someone would "accidently" rip the paper and once the damage was done, well there was no way to "save" the paper. So it was those rare moments when we could rip but we had to be careful not to let it happen too often. We learned to appreciate those who used LOTS of tape, it made it easier to get a way with ripping.

The words, "Now honey be careful not to ripe the paper." Will forever be etched upon my mind and feel as festive as the phrase"Merry Christmas."

Once the gift wrap was successfully removed from the package we were to bring it to Grandma. She would wrap it back around the empty roll. This would continue until all the packages were open.

Thus the tradition of opening gifts would last at least three times longer thanks to Grandma's thriftiness. She would leave the used wrapping paper with us thinking it was the choicest gift given. After many years of 'trying' to re-use her (and ours) hard work of recycled paper we realized that once she would leave, the rolled paper made a great fire starter!

I remember having gifts wrapped in paper that had been re-used for so many years that it was hard to make out the picture of the print on the paper due to the marks from previous year's scotch tape. For those of you who have never had to recycle wrapping paper, scotch tape removes the printed color leaving only a splotchy white color. When, us children would get such a gift we would ask with hope in our hearts, "Do we HAVE to save this paper?"

With complete indignation, Grandma would respond, "Yes dear, we can not waste." With a heavy heart we would unwrap the gift painfully slow.

Now when we open gifts on Christmas morning, I not only remember Grandma but there is that instinctive feeling that we need to save each piece of wrapping paper. Thankfully it is a fleeting feeling and I laugh to myself when the kids get a ripping, tearing and a destroying. I doubt Grandma approves of my wasteful and poor recycling skills. I would not be surprised if she has asked herself, "Where did I go wrong?"

Janell's Grandma Effie story

Just so those who do not read comments do not miss out on this "CLASSIC" Grandma Effie story, I copied and am pasting this for a post. The following is by Janell...

Here's another story about Grandma, and this one is one of Marc’s favorites!!

When I was little and Grandma and Grandpa were visiting I would beg to sleep in their bed with them. Grandma would take advantage of these nights, not to tell me fairytales and other bedtime stories, but to teach me the multiplication tables. I don’t know how many slumber parties it took, but I finally had my times tables memorized.

The problem happened when my teacher started teaching us the multiplication tables – I think it was in third grade??? I did not inherit the family “patience” gene, and as our teacher was trying to teach the rest of the class what 2 times 2 was, I really couldn’t restrain myself from yelling out. “Four. Four. The Answer is Four.” This continued for a few minutes, with the teacher trying to get our class to give her the answer she was looking for, nobody responding, and me “humphing,” sighing loudly, in all shapes and forms behaving badly and rudely, then finally saying in a patronizing voice, “the answer is 6.” The answer is 2. Or whatever it was. I can only imagine how irritating I was! Well, the teacher didn’t put up with that for too long. After 20 minutes or so of these repeated behaviors, she said because I obviously new the “2s” so well, I could be excused and go read outside of class.

The story doesn’t end there. Grandma and Grandpa happened to be visiting that very same day. When Grandma heard the teacher had, in essence, kicked me out of the classroom, she said, “That dumb dumb. If she had two brain cells to rub together she would have left the classroom and let Janell teach the class!”

And THAT is who our grandmother was – someone who truly believed one of her third-grade grandchildren was better prepared to teach a class of other third-graders than the teacher. =)

Go Ask Grandma

This is one of the stories I think of when I think of Grandma Effie. Growing up in Smallville, Washington (Pullman to be specific), we lived in the same town as my Grandparent F. We attended church with them every Sunday.

As a very young girl I just could never fully understand why they made slips so pretty to just put a not so nearly pretty dress right over it. At home I would run around in my slips all day, yes I was a girly girl no matter how hard I use to deny that fact. I have come to embrace my feminity these later year. Back to the slips, there is a picture of Devon's (I think) birthday party with me in a slip. I am surprised he would allow that.

I loved my slips and knew I was as glamorous as a princess in them. My mother would not allow me to wear slips only to church, I felt it was quite unreasonable.

This is how I imagine one particular sacrament meeting conversation went...

"Mom, may I PLEASE take my dress off?" I asked.
"No Julie, we wear dresses during church. "

Pause

"Mom, may I go sit with Grandma?"
"Yes, you may."

I am surprised even to this day that mom did not see this coming. It must have been an especially spiritual meeting that day, not much got by my mom.

Not until nearly the very end of the meeting did my mom turn around and see not only was I in my slip but I standing up on the pew waving for all to see. Very much like a junior miss princess in the town parade on top of her beautiful float. At that moment my mom was not sure if it was my grandmother or me who she was going to throttle!

If mom says no, go ask Grandma Effie!

Grandma story: The Ultimate Road Trip

My grandparents were young adults in the depression. This had an impact upon the rest of their ENTIRE life. They thought and did things much differently than my and my parent's generation. For example they chose to ride in a Greyhound bus all the way from Pullman, Washington to Washington DC, 2083 miles according to the internet. While my parents, aunts and uncles choose to fly. Don't get me wrong my grandparents could have well afforded flying but ... lets just say the depression just did a number on them.

They decided that this would be the perfect opportunity to bond with their 6 year old granddaughter. I kind of wonder if Grandpa just did not want to have to be the one that had to listen to grandma all that 2083 miles and Grandma just wanted someone that would listen to her. Grandma liked to talk, it is a bit of an understatement.

I remember bits of this "Ultimate Road Trip." I remember grandma helping me do my classwork that I was missing, playing with other children in the narrow isle on the bus, and enjoying this new adventure.

One of the most memorable moments of this adventure was grandma's ingenious ways to save money. For those of you who have not experienced traveling almost the entire width of the country via Greyhound bus, which I am guessing is mostly all of you, you get to see every greyhound depot bathrooms en route. The nice bathrooms had not only your free toilets, that were what you would see in an everyday public bathroom, but also the toilets that they charged for.

30 years ago it may have been a dime or a quarter. Today it might be fifty cents or a dollar (pure guess I should go to the local depot just to see-old times sake!). I was surprised by the fee, a new concept for a 6 year old mind.

We stood in one bathroom that had these luxurious fee potties and just waited. Then when the coast was clear grandma told me to crawl under the bathroom stall and open the door for her. I obeyed.

SCORE! We figured out how to get the nice potties without having to pay the fee. Heaven forbid we pay for it. I do remember they were considerably nicer with their personal sink, cleaner, and well worth the risk of Hepatitis ? to crawl under for.

I still laugh at the thought of sending your granddaughter under a bathroom stall door so that you can have the nice potty. You know those Relief Society lessons on honesty and integrity. Inevitably someone will share a story of one of their ancestor's integrity and honestly that had a profound influence upon every one of their descendants, in fact they inevitably are ALL active in the church today.

I just smile and think to myself, Grandma you were a one in a million.

"SHELLY BABE ... oh and Julie"

Grandma loved her family. No one can argue that. In spite of her imperfections, we all knew she loved us. We all carried that Royal Woodward (name changed) Blood and that said something!

Grandma did have her favorites though. I don't know anyone who came before my sister Mechelle. My whole life I heard those words, "Shelly Babe" addressed to her. The moment we would arrive we would hear, "OH Shelly Babe come here and give me a kiss." "Shelly Babe let me look at how skinny you are getting." "Shelly babe where did you get that beautiful hair!"

(Note: Mechelle's hair most certainly did NOT come from that Royal Woodward blood. I don't know if any of us ever had the courage to tell Grandma that it came from Grandma's daughter-in-law's side the much inferrior Carter (name changed again, I 'm paranoid, sorry) blood. I feel entitled to write this because I am one of the blessed/cursed ones who did in fact receive that "LOVILY" Woodward hairline, paper thin and body-less, JOY!)

Although this memory may be inaccurate, I rarely remember even being addressed by my grandmother when "Shelly Babe" was in the room. Although it hurt at times, I am not bitter it was just who Grandma Effie was.

She never meant to hurt anyone through her blatant favoritisms, she was quite oblivious to it. At least I think she was. Come to think of it my mother use to describe her as "Dumb like a fox." Nevertheless, I am not even sure she would have acted differently had she known my feelings. In spite of the hurt, I knew I was loved in spite of my Carter ways.

Mechelle and I have tried to understand this favoritism. What we have surmised is that Mechelle had many character and personality traits that Grandma had. They are/were both bubbily, funny, and usually the center of attention. They both love and are devoutly loyal to their families and they both are very stronge willed. Yet I also think Grandma saw in Mechelle someone to emulate, someone true and honest with herself and others.

I had no chance to be a favorite with my Carter mannerisms. Just as Mechelle is all Woodward or Felix(Grandma's married name, which too has been changed), I am completely Carter. I guess my only consolation is that I was clearly the favorite (granddaughter that is) of the Carter Grandparents.

Hence the inside joke, between and my sister and I, is..."SHELLY BABE ... and um huh oh yes Julie."

Grandpa Harold says his two bits

My Grandpa Harold was a quiet man. In fact if Grandpa had have been mute he would not have minded. It is my personal conviction that that was one reason he married Grandma Effie, he knew he would never HAVE to speak again. This memory is so vivid that I remember where I was, who was with me, and almost what we were talking about in spite of my young age. The reason for the strong memory is the shock that it produced in all in attendance, including my grandmother. Grandpa Harold was not a social man. In spite of his distaste for public appearance he went to church every Sunday, I always admired him for that. I know the Lord will reward his dutiful sacrifice. The moment Grandpa said his "Amen" to the closing prayer he would bee line it to the car. Where he quietly waited and waited and waited for Grandma to arrive. Grandma was very much the opposite of grandpa in this realm. I know this of Grandpa because I had opportunities to wait with him. He NEVER complained, he respected and understood Grandma. He was happy to give her much needed time to interact with friends and associates. It was these times, waiting in the car with my beloved Grandpa Harold that hold some of my choicest memories.

With Grandma gone, Grandpa and I talked. He would tell me things I never knew and ask me questions. I was always surprised by the deep conversations we would have, he being such a quiet man and all.

Every Sunday afternoon we would have Sunday dinner with Grandma and Grandpa Felix. We served this particular Sunday Dinner in the "Formal Dinning Room." Dad sat at the head of the table nearest the window, mom at the foot nearest the rock hallway. Nick and I sat on the side nearest the kitchen sink, while Grandpa and Grandma sat opposite of us.

Dad, Grandma, and Grandpa were talking business, as all our Sunday Diners went. Grandpa mentioned a story and as was customary Grandma proceeded to tell the story (I think this is just how they interacted). Grandpa being annoyed, which was not customary, said, "Effie this is my story, I'm telling it."

Every jaw in the room hit the table, every fork suspended in air, and I think Grandpa was a bit stunned by his own response. Not missing too many beats he continued his story. We all listen intently and the true miracle, Grandma did not interrupt once!

Grandpa Harold: A sight for sore eyes

I have another fond memory of Grandpa Harold. I was at their home and it was just Grandpa and me in the Living Room.

I was looking at some pictures Grandma had framed. One particular, was their 50th anniversary invitation. Not only was there a present day picture but a picture of them individually about the time they were married.

I looked at Grandpa's picture, and with much adoration I exclaimed, "Grandpa, you were so handsome! I would have had a crush on you. Good thing I had not been around or I would have given Grandma a run for her money, or at least tried."

I was a bit embarrassed I said that and not entirely sure Grandma would approve but when I saw Grandpa laugh, blush a bit and seem flattered. I was glad I did.