Her memories are crackerjack. She tells me about riding cable cars through downtown Phoenix. Cleaning floors for the Romley family at a weekly $3 pittance. Seeing movies in Spanish at the Orpheum and old Azteca. Making mattresses at Tata's factory for old-time City Councilman Calvin Goode. Sending her husband to fight for America in World War II and, years later, sending her son to Vietnam.

Funny enough, she can remember that day in California when she and my mom stood on a train platform and waved goodbye to my Uncle Roy.

Giving your flesh and blood to Uncle Sam's ranks is no small sacrifice of the heart.

Nana Mary
Nana Mary

Clearly, hers is solid gold. I can tell from her beautiful wrinkles. I can tell from her leathered, elegant hands.

And that is why, gentle reader, I plan to invite my Nana to my wedding one day. I'll wear black and white Armani. I'll let her nibble cheese and crackers and soft tortillas in the church pew, she'll offer blessings and prayers and memories to me, and I'll wipe away goblets of tears.

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1 comments
pavotbleu
pavotbleu

Hey Mr. Brown Town,

I was wondering if you know what Brown Town really means? I think it means something dirty...

But hey, my own gramma's been dead more than two years and I still miss her everyday. So cheers to your Nana.

Ms. Pavot

PSI love the sentence "Her memories are crackerjack". Fantastic!

 
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