Thursday, November 18, 2010

Tonight I Enjoyed a Visit with Aunt Elizabeth

When I was in the fifth grade my grandmother (Eddye Mae LOYD Swann) took me to Washington, D.C., to visit her brother and sister-in-law. That is really my first memories of Aunt Elizabeth (Elizabeth GREGG Loyd) and Uncle Charlie (Charles Yancey LOYD). It was the beginning of some of my fondest childhood memories.  My first visit was in 1949 on the occasion of the inauguration of Harry S. Truman's second term as President of the United States.  It was also my first time to ride on an escalator, but that is another story. 

Since my grandfather (Otis Franklin SWANN) and my dad (Raymond Mitchell THOMAS, Jr.) both worked for railroads, Mama Swann and I could ride the train to Washington on a pass.  We boarded in Savannah, Georgia, at night and arrived in the Capitol the next morning.  Uncle Charlie met us at the train station and took us to his home.  Each summer after that initial visit, I rode ride the train to Washington alone where my visits lasted from two to six weeks.

During those visits, they both treated me as thought I was royalty. Aunt Elizabeth was a walking history book.  She gave better tours of the great city, I am sure, than any of the tour guides there.  The nicest thing about those visits was sitting up late at night, playing cards with Uncle Charlie, and sleeping in the next morning.  Aunt Elizabeth rose early in the mornings, made breakfast for Uncle Charlie, and then went to the grocery store where she bought groceries for that day's dinner

When she returned from shopping, she cooked BRUNCH for me (she said it was a combination of breakfast and lunch) as I had slept through the regular breakfast meal.  My favorite "brunch" was a grilled, potted meat sandwich.  The sandwiches were always hot, mashed flat by the grill, and the bread was crusty from toasting. 

The other day I was shopping and saw a little can of "potted meat."  That was the first time I had thought of her sandwiches in years.  Tonight, I opened the can, spread it between two pieces of bread, and grilled it in the grill (mashing it flat).  I enjoyed imitating her preparation of the sandwich as much as I enjoyed eating it.  It was a nice moment.  My memories of her brunch menu didn't disappoint me.  That doesn't mean I want another one anytime soon, but the joy of the sandwich was remembering the great times I had in her home. 

My Aunt Elizabeth was a great lady and I was blessed to have been given opportunities to spend time with her.  I never heard her complain, she was always happy, and she always had a sweet, little giggle.  She wrinkled her nose when she talked to me and if it was a serious conversation she squinted her eyes shut.  I liked her little habits as as they made her a little different from others.  She was a former school teacher, she was raised in a Quaker home, she was organized better than Martha Stewart, she took care of her family, but always had time for others.  If I could be like anyone in my Family Tree, it would be Aunt Elizabeth.  Never a week goes by that sometime during that week she comes to mind.  The time she spent with me was not wasted.  She taught me to type, to sew, and to identify trees and wildflowers.  She taught me to have confidence in myself and see beauty in all things. 

And tonight we shared a sandwich again.



Aunt Elizabeth and Joan in the Blue Ridge Mountains (1952)
 

Monday, November 15, 2010

The Little Tin Mule

Most afternoons when I was a little girl, my great-grandfather (William Edward Loyd) sat on the porch swing and opened a new package of Brown’s Mule chewing tobacco.  Each slab had a little metal tag depicting the little mule logo.  My brother Ray and cousin Glenn patiently sat there watching Papa peel off the cellophane, and using the point of his knife, remove the little mule tag.  Papa then asked, "Who wants the mule?"  I always waited until they both said they wanted it before I said, "I do, Papa."  Papa always gave it to me.

I remember how special I felt when Papa handed it to me and how disappointed the two boys always were.  I never felt guilty in anyway or acknowledged that I was really being a little brat.  I just smiled, said "thank you" and gave Papa a sweet smile.  Ray and Glenn wanted it too, but it was always mine.

I have often thought about those little mules and wished that I still had one of them because it was the most vivid and cherished memory of my great-grandfather

A few weeks ago, I searched for an item on eBay.  Something I saw during the search must have brought the memory of the little mule to the surface.  I typed "tin mule" in the search block.  Up came two entries for a "tin mule."  I bid on both of them hoping one would be mine.  I lost the bid on the first mule, but was the successful bidder on the second. 

In a couple of days, it came in the mail.  As I untied the ribbon securing the small package and opened the paper around it, I was flooded with the memory of Papa's love.  I know that it is not one of the actual tags he once gave me, but it certainly represents one he did.  That is all that matters.  Ray and Glenn, I am sorry—but you missed it again.