As I mentioned in the previous post, Madison, Indiana is something of a postcard-picture-perfect town. The tint of the tree leaves conjures up such lasting memories for me. When it comes to Grandma Tanksley, though, it's a little foggier. |
I'm thinking of her home right now, elevated a bit higher above the ground than, say, the homes in Houston. There was a small alley to the left of the house. A set of steps leading up to the front screen door, and the house sitting on top of a basement. Now that I think about it, it sort of reminds me of the duplex house that Rocky lived in, more resembling the one in the second movie rather than the first one.
Now, we're inside the house. (It's 1978, and Frances' husband Vernon passed away in the previous year. So, with the exception of a visit when I was an infant, I never really got a chance to know him.) The interior is full of aging furniture, a TV playing church-based programs (probably something like The 700 Club), and figurines placed carefully in little wooden shadowboxes.
Grandma Tanksley is at the kitchen stove. My mother says she loved to cook. I guess it runs in the family, although that particular gene hasn't passed on to me. I remember her voice, a bit gravelly. This along with her fairly large frame made her seem somewhat intimidating to a four or five-year-old boy. But as far as I recall, she was generally a cordial and down-to-earth woman.
Grandma Tanksley is at the kitchen stove. My mother says she loved to cook. I guess it runs in the family, although that particular gene hasn't passed on to me. I remember her voice, a bit gravelly. This along with her fairly large frame made her seem somewhat intimidating to a four or five-year-old boy. But as far as I recall, she was generally a cordial and down-to-earth woman.