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Show n0 You Remember? . . . i-oolod eiHHiRli to "sot." Looks like wo may have to rovort to that soon with tlu sou-city of rubber. Of Gnitulmothor's grape juice ami slice of caraway seed cake she gave us as a "snack" before we wont to bod whon we stayed nights with her after Grandfather passed away. Of Grandma loaning over her gate, looking, looking for someone who never came aagln! The sadness that crept into the heart nt seeing her there alone the memory of her smile when you came along the path, and how quickly she recovered from the lonely mood when company came. Remember games of summer we used to play "Toadie, toadie, how art thee?" "Just as well as I can be." "How's your next door neighbor?" neigh-bor?" "I don't know, but I'll go see!" And "Here comes an old woman with a stick and a staff, and you must neither smile nor laugh, but say right down, 'I will'." "Three jolly welchman coming for a trade" the trade acted out in charade, the winner being the one who guessed the trade in pantomime panto-mime first. By MAl-PK H. 1UGNKPTCT " i,rf"niHi the nlr laden with """I't 'of f"'lt- ''Uwo,'a- a,ul "!..rn;w-nlw.. Thoughts of ripe .,;ol.rit,s ,a the hot sun; of f,M ,t turning blue on one s" Tito overpowering scent sims"im- b0I.ril.s: !UuJ memory 5 "fiine down in the cool shade ,, ,Zrvb.lios forafewmin-01 forafewmin-01 nU?l e from the July sun. J ove. from childhood of WrrfL a forest, the interlaced "v bushes the trees, so SS, 2 that only small patches of lic-ht flickered through. "ffSckin cherries in a pail .i h was tied around the waist; of the heavy fruit pulling . Hown-tlie relief of emptying and going back to the iwnerto never came again! The dusty cherry trees that overhung fences along the high-Lvs high-Lvs before the streets were treets, but only roads; dusty ones, rodden bv horses, cows, sheep, and wa-ons, "the iron - tired wheels sinking hub deep in dust. And of watching Grandmother seal her fruit jars with red seal-in? seal-in? wax. The scent of the hot wax; and of watching it run down toe sides of the jars untidily before it And again we sing under the heavily scented locust trees with guitar and banjo accompaniment: "Swanee River," "I've A Longing In My Heart for You. Louise," and "In the Gloaming." Memories come of listening for the sleepy chirp of a bird in its tree home while we sang the moonlight making fairlyland an everyday scene, so lovely the emotions emo-tions are divided between smiles, and tears, ecstasy and sorrow. The twang of a banjo, the dulcet strains of a guitar, always bring back a longing homesickness for the childhood days. The irresponsibility, irrespon-sibility, the faith and sincerity in parents and home. The power we have of reliving the past, feeling the beauty, the thrill, and also the depression of other days. Some memories that were so wonderfully wonderful-ly uplifting, we long to live them over again, and others we would like to forget! None of us sense the perfect moments until they are past; in later years we look back upon the paths we've traveled and say "That was my sunshine hour; that was my happy day!" Do you remember? |