Blue Bells

June 30, 2009
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My Dad doesn’t like his mother. I never understood why exactly but I can guess. I think she wasn’t a good mom, at least to my Father. She is very scatter brained and she talks a lot, she repeats herself and is never on time. Grandmother Mary was always so busy with herself, at least the way my Dad describes it.

So I never saw her on a regular basis, even though for almost three years we barely lived a block away. We lived on the same street, just separated by a handful of houses and a main road that was always busy.

She came to our birthday parties hours late; after all the presents had been opened and the ice cream was all melted. And my Father always told her what time the party would start; he would even tell her a time that was a whole two hours earlier. But it wouldn’t even make a difference. She would show up when she did, and after a while she didn’t come at all.

What I remember the best and the memory I like the most is that recess. I don’t even remember it clearly. Just that is was recess and that it was sunny. Grandma Mary was just there all of a sudden. I was playing jump rope and she taught me new songs. And just a quickly as she showed up she’s gone. My favorite memory is just one recess, just one jump song that I can half remember.
Blue Bells
Blue Bells
Blue Bells are ringing…





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